Miracle
by TheRepeat
Summary: The story of an amnesiac girl trying to survive in a world that doesn't seem to want her to.
1. Part I

_Author's note:_

 _First things first: This was all meant to be one big (BIG) chapter, but once I reached roughly the 30K word count, I decided it would be too cruel to make you read through all of that on one page._ _Thus,_ Miracle _is split up into seven predetermined parts—but is still uploaded all at once, from beginning to end, so it's best if reviewed as the oneshot it was intended to be, yeah?_

 _Enjoy._

* * *

 **I**

* * *

Sand.

The word echoed in her thoughts, and as she grasped at the earth, she recognized that that was what the word meant.

 _Sand,_ she thought, letting it run through her fingers. _Sand._

She looked around. _Much sand._ It was everywhere. As far as the eye could see. Sand, sand, sand.

She… slowly… stood. _Stand,_ she thought as she performed the action. It hurt to stand. She didn't like standing.

But she felt as though she must, because the sun above also hurt, and she felt… endangered… as long as she did not stand.

She shuffled a step forward, and then two. _Walking._

She stumbled. _Walking hurts too._

But she continued on. She continued on for a long while. She could grasp no concept of time, but the hurtful sun was in a very different place in the sky when she saw something new.

 _Smooth… sand?_ She hunched over, running her palm across the ground. The ground here was soft… paved. _Road,_ she thought. Instinct told her to follow this.

So follow it she did. The smooth sand was very bright, brighter than normal sand… it felt as though the sun now attacked her from below as well as above.

She panted. Her clothes were torn and ragged, and they were too much; she cast off her cloak, now damp from her sweat, and dropped it into the sand.

Walking hurt so much. She couldn't do it. Her lips hurt and so did her stomach. Her skin did, too.

She stumbled again. She had stumbled many times while walking through the sand, but this was the last time. She could not stand up again.

She collapsed into a pitiful heap, breathing the sand in. Soon, even her consciousness left her.

* * *

Rumbling, this time. She blinked, and above her was… not the sky.

She sat up slowly. Everything still hurt, like before—but the sun no longer afflicted her.

"Oy," came a voice from behind her. She turned around, startled.

There was a man there. He sat with his back to her; his hands were around reins, and two horses trotted in front of him, dragging along this covered wagon in which she and her savior sat.

"You awake, girl?" the man said gruffly.

 _Girl?_ She didn't respond. She couldn't; didn't know how. She took a vain breath, trying to imitate him.

"Girl," he said, "there's some food and water next to you. It's on me, don't worry 'bout it."

The Girl frowned, looking around. She found a tin can that made sloshing noises when she picked it up, but it had this thing on top of it…

The man glanced over his shoulder at her, only to find her staring dumbly at a canteen. "You… twist the lid off," he said, imitating the motion with his hand. The Girl nodded quickly, and obeyed, spinning the lid off enthusiastically. As she started desperately gulping down water, the man turned his eyes forward, shaking his head. "Naga's sake, who doesn't know how to open a canteen," he muttered to himself.

To the Girl's disappointment, the canteen's contents were not infinite. She puckered her cracked lips and turned it upside down, trying to utilize every drop. When she finally gave up on it, she looked around for this 'food' the nice man had mentioned.

The man glanced behind at her, and found her happily nibbling on one of his homemade sandwiches, having apparently figured out the wrapper by herself. "You better be grateful," he said, catching her attention. "My wife made that for me."

The Girl inclined her head to indicate her thanks, though he suspected she still didn't understand what he was saying.

"…You don't talk much, do you?" he said, squinting. He then shrugged, facing forward again. "Fine by me."

The Girl finished her sandwich quickly, and found herself thirsty once again. She found another canteen, confidently asserted her competence at lid removal, and downed its contents just as the last one.

After a moment of staring at the empty canteen, she sighed. Her stomach no longer pained her, but her lips and skin still did, and she feared this man could not help her there, no matter how kind he was.

"Your first sound," the man mused. "Of course it'd be a sigh." He let slack the reins, slowing the horses to a steady halt. "Welp, it's almost night. We'd best be sleeping, my destination isn't going anywhere." He shot an irked glance at the Girl. "Though I only packed food with _one_ person in mind… Damn my soft heart, taking pity on an unconscious hitchhiker." He jabbed an accusing finger at her. "If we run out of food and starve, it's _your_ fault!"

She blinked, growing upset. She tried to form words.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Gods bless it, I'm yelling at a girl who can't even speak." He dismounted from the wagon. "You can take the covered wagon tonight, Girl. I've got a sleeping bag for me out here."

The Girl frowned.

The man started working on a fire, slicing his flint and steel over some firewood. A spark shot the wrong way, singing his leg hair, and he swore loudly as he stood.

He saw a figure out of the corner of his eye. "What? Girl, I said you're staying in the wagon."

She shook her head.

"So you _can_ understand me?" he said, growing angry. "Then listen: I've been nice enough to let you tag along, and drink my water, and eat the best sandwich ever, so you'd best listen to me before I change my mind about saving you!"

She frowned sadly.

He looked away. "Gods, don't give me any of that… puppy-dog eyes nonsense!"

After a quiet moment, he hazarded a glance over at her, and instantly regretted it: she was crying.

"Ah, gods! None of that, none of that! Fine, I'll… let you sleep outside, with me." He crouched down, resuming work on the fire. "I've only got one sleeping bag, though, so—so you're sleeping on the ground!"

The Girl smiled, clumsily wiping away her tears as she sat down, watching him work at the fire.

He muttered to himself as he worked. "So ungrateful… Manipulative little… Using my weakness against me…"

The Girl giggled quietly.

Finally, a spark caught, and a fire burst to life. "Hell yes!" the man said, jumping to his feet. "Finally! First time I've gotten one of these to work!"

He suddenly remembered the presence of the Girl, and collected himself. "…Because this is the first time I've tried, of course."

The Girl smiled pleasantly.

The man sat next to the fire, staring into its depths with a small grin of confidence in his own manhood. After a moment, he glanced over at the Girl, making sure to sour his expression appropriately. "So, girl, what's your story?"

The light in the Girl's eyes dimmed. Her thoughts were hazy and muddled; she could barely recall the burning desert from less than a day before, much less anything before then.

"…Still can't talk, huh? Well, I'll just talk about me, then." He pointed back at the wagon with his thumb. "All that back there, those bags and boxes you were sitting next to? Those're my goods. I'm a merchant, you see. Trading, selling, making money. That's my thing. I'm going to Plegia Harbor to close a sale, and then I'm going back home. Now, I'll take you with me as far as the harbor, but then you're on your own." He stared into the fire again, his expression softening somewhat. "I… feel kinda bad for you, but the harbor is a social hub, I'm sure you'll find… a job, at least. Maybe you can even find a way home from there, I dunno." His eyes lit up. "Wait, I've got a few friends in the harbor. I could get one of 'em to help you out, probably." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I could dump you off on 'em."

The Girl smiled, nodding with understanding.

"Now… get some sleep!" he demanded, and he started unfurling his sleeping bag. "I won't have you bugging me with all your loud snoring once we get going in the morning…"

* * *

The rumbling of the wagon was rhythmic and pleasant, nearly lulling the Girl to sleep on several occasions. Each time, she was brought back from the brink by the merchant, who would sporadically converse with, more or less, himself, since the Girl could not respond.

"I tell ya, Plegia's had a rough market lately! Ever since the…"

"Valm is where it's at, these days. Economy's booming over there. Heard the same thing about Ylisse too, but why the hell would I want…"

"D'you keep up with sports…?"

"My wife told me, right before I left, that she was pregnant. Can you believe it, girl? Me, a father!" The merchant laughed, glancing over his shoulder at the Girl. "I'm going to have a boy! Well, I don't know if it'll be a boy. Really hope it is, though, 'cause I wanna raise him just like my pop raised me!"

The Girl smiled.

* * *

The next three days were more of the same: the merchant's stories, and the Girl's rapt attention to them. She would smile at his jokes and meet his eye whenever he turned around.

"Girl," said the merchant one day, "I've been driving you around for four days, and dammit if I didn't say you've grown on me. I'm gonna miss you when you're gone, not gonna lie."

The Girl turned serious, her mouth working. "I… will… miss you."

The merchant turned around in surprise, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Holy hell, she speaks! Hahaha!" He faced forward again. "I don't reckon you opened some kinda verbal floodgate, but it's nice to hear your voice for once."

The Girl giggled.

"Well! Now I know that you can speak, but you're not exactly bursting with vocabulary," the merchant said gleefully. "Guess I've gotta take it upon myself to teach you some words."

The Girl nodded excitedly.

"Word number one! 'Profit.' That means, you sell something, and you get money out of it. That's my profession!" The merchant was enthusiastic. "Oh, word number two: 'profession.' It just means 'job'."

The Girl beamed, taking mental notes.

"That's a nice smile there, girl! You're gonna go places with that." He raised three fingers. "Anyway, word number three: 'bullshit'…"

* * *

"Hey. Hey, Girl." The merchant glanced over his shoulder at the Girl, who was just waking up from a nap. "Look ahead."

The Girl squinted, and could barely make out a glinting light on the far horizon.

"It's Plegia Harbor," said the merchant. "That's our destination."

The Girl frowned sadly. "So… soon…"

"We had a whole week, girl," the merchant replied, smiling wanly. "You know what they say about all good things! …Oh wait, no you don't. The saying is, 'all good things must come to an end.'"

"But… why…?"

The merchant frowned. "I'm sorry, dear, but that's just the way things are. I've got a family I have to get back to. You probably have one, too. If you do, I really hope you find them."

"Family…" the Girl murmured.

The merchant smiled sadly. "Word number two-fifty-six: 'Family.' It's the most important thing in the world. It means the people that are closest to you; that will love you and care for you. Family is somethin' everyone has, but no one really appreciates until they've lost them." He pointed declaratively at her. "Remember, Girl: family is something that's _earned_. It doesn't have to be actual blood relatives. It can transcend that." He smiled. "Having a child on the way… really puts things in perspective, y'know?"

The Girl nodded, blinking away tears.

"Be strong, darling." The merchant turned around. "You're a big girl. You'll make it just fine without me."

* * *

A scrawny man, who clearly hadn't seen a shaving razor in a few days, met her and the merchant at the window. "Ah, it's you! What brings you to the neighborhood, friend?"

"I've got a sale to make a few blocks down," said the merchant, gesturing with his thumb. He placed a hand on the Girl's shoulder. "But I picked up this here straggler on the way. No memories, barely any words; rocking the whole 'amnesia' thing."

"Mmhm, mmhm," said the friend, looking her up and down. "She ain't from around here, I tell you what. She's got them nice earrings, and besides, I know the ins and outs of this town; if she was from here, I'd know 'er, fer sure."

"Well, I was hoping you could maybe take care of her for a while, or take her somewhere that can," the merchant said.

"For as loyal a friend as you, anything," the friend said with a sideways grin.

The merchant reached through the window, shaking his friend's hand and smiling. "Thanks a million," he said. He then turned to the Girl, taking her by the shoulders and looking her in the eye. "Now, remember! If you're ever in town, ask around for _Martin._ That's me, I'm Martin. We'll grab dinner or somethin', or maybe I could take you to meet the family once things have settled down back home." He grinned. "Good luck, Girl. You'll find a family, whether it's blood or not. I just know it." He put a hand on her cheek affectionately. "Now… I gotta go, before…. you get all teary-eyed. See you around, Girl."

Martin the Merchant gave her a brief salute, and then he was gone.

The Girl watched him go, a great melancholy spreading through her. "Family," she murmured to herself.

"Oy!" the friend said, snapping her out of her trance. "Aight, so here's how this'll go. I've got this letter," and he produced said letter, "and I need it delivered. If you go and deliver this for me, I'll help you out; I'll tell the authorities about you, and they can put the word out, making you _way_ easier to find if you've got family somewhere." The Girl reached for the letter, but he pulled it away at the last moment. "But! If you skip town on me, I ain't helpin' you. Not a word outta me to anyone."

The Girl nodded rapidly, and took the letter. The friend gave her the necessary directions, and she was off.


	2. Part II

**II**

* * *

The Girl felt suddenly claustrophobic in this enormous crowd of people. Her breathing became panicked, and she crouched down, her hands behind her head, as she tried to calm herself.

In. Out. In. Out. Her head began to clear.

"Hey there, lass. What's up with you?"

She felt a toe nudge at her back, so she rapidly stood up, alarmed. Before her stood three men, each wearing a smug grin and an unkempt beard.

"Well?" the center man said. "You gonna answer me, or…?"

The Girl swallowed nervously. "I-I… I am… sorry."

"What're you, stupid?" another man sneered. "Talk normal-like, wouldja?"

The center man, evidently the boss, raised a hand to silence him. "Say, lass, you are quite pretty. How's about you join me and my crew?"

"I, um…" She pointed at her letter. "I... I must…"

"Sounds a bit like she didn't hear you, boss," the third man said. "That almost sounded like a no!"

"Oh, but nobody'd be _that_ dumb," said the second man. "The great pirate captain Dobus, refused by a stupid little girl?"

Captain Dobus silenced them both. "Well, lass? What'll it be?"

The Girl simply pointed at her letter again, frustrated to tears at her inability to communicate.

"Aw, now she's crying," the second pirate mocked.

"Don't you worry about that letter," Dobus said, and swiftly snatched it from the Girl's hand. He handed the letter off to the second pirate.

The Girl watched, horrified, as Dobus's man ripped the letter in fourths. The pieces of the destroyed parchment fluttered down to the ground.

"There," Dobus said, satisfied. "Now you don't have to worry about that silly ol' letter anymore!" He grabbed the Girl by the forearm and pulled her along with him. "You're coming with me, lass."

"…Nn…" she grunted, unable to fight back.

The second pirate leered at the Girl as they walked. "You caught yourself a beaut this time, Captain!"

"Yeah, well, she's mine," Dobus said. "Hands off."

"…Really? Well, whatever ya say."

The Girl didn't fully understand what was happening, but as she looked back at the scattered pieces of her letter, she only knew that it wasn't good for her.

* * *

The boat was enormous. Fifty of the merchant's covered wagons could fit on this thing… The sight momentarily distracted the Girl from her situation, as she marveled at how tall the thing was. Three people standing on each other's shoulders wouldn't even be able to touch the upper deck.

Soon, however, she was inside, and all of the wonder and charm of the ship was gone. The interiors were cramped, musty, and dark, and also had plenty of men who wouldn't stop leering at her as Dobus led her through the ship. "Hands off," Dobus would always say. What did he mean?

Dobus stopped at one point to tell someone, "We're setting sail," and then they kept walking. Setting sail? Did that mean this boat… this water-bound building… could actually move? The Girl was impressed.

Finally, they had crossed through the entirety of the dank interior of the ship, and were in a sparse room with a bed, a dusty bookshelf filled with trinkets and commodities, and a desk with some kind of book with letters and numbers in it. There was a little, round window that Dobus had called a 'porthole' at some point, and out of it, the Girl could see water… lots and lots of it… more water than there had ever been sand.

"You stay here for a little bit," Dobus said. "I'll be back in an hour or so, once we're good and on our way to Valm."

"Valm…" The Girl had heard the word before, but…

"Say, what's your name, lass?" Dobus asked.

There was that word again. "Lass…?" the girl asked. What did it mean?

"Lass it is," Dobus said cheerfully. "I'll be back, Lass, and then the adventure _really_ begins." And he was gone.

Lass didn't like her new name, but it seemed as though she had no choice. Oh, well.

Lass sat on the bed, looking around with curiosity. There was a lot of stuff in here. Lots of little trinkets… she wondered how Dobus had gotten so many things.

She thought back to that letter, its pieces probably blowing in the wind by now, forever out of reach.

It probably wasn't the worst thing that the letter was gone. That friend of Martin's said there was no way she was from the harbor, so it wouldn't really matter if anyone was looking for her here, right? Anyway, it wouldn't do any good to worry over something she couldn't change.

After a few minutes, Lass got bored, and stood, pacing around the room. A few more minutes of that, and she figured that that man wasn't going to come back and explain himself. She decided that at least the waves were moving enough to be interesting, and she looked out of the porthole.

"Ah…!" she murmured.

There was Plegia Harbor in the distance. And it was only getting farther! The ship _was_ moving!

Lass watched it in awe for a little while, but even that grew boring eventually. She turned around and tried the door, but it was locked. Curious.

Lass went back to the porthole, resting her chin in her hands and watching the waves gently broil. She hadn't noticed until just now, but she realized the boat was rocking in tandem with the waves. She smiled, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation. She could feel the boat rising over a wave, ascending, ascending…

Then, with a violent lurch, the ship descended. She lost her balance, falling backwards and sliding away from the porthole, toward the door.

The lurch had also whipped the door open, so she nearly slid right past the doorway, though she caught herself on the door frame. Slowly, the ship leveled out, resuming its gentle tilting, and Lass found it safe to stand.

Lass looked around. The door was open, so she was free to explore now! She smiled to herself. _Adventure._

She took a step forward, and was surprised to hear voices approaching.

"Gods, Cap'n, it's like you forget this happens every time!"

"Shut up and… get me to my room…"

Dobus appeared from around a corner. Another pirate was helping Dobus walk, and Dobus's hand was firmly clasped over his own mouth; he was also a deathly pale.

Lass frowned sadly at the sight.

Dobus squinted at her. "Lass, you got out?"

Lass gestured behind her. "Door… it…"

"Ah, that li'l swell from a minute ago opened it, I reckon," the other pirate said. "That lock's really weak, sir, we should get it fixed."

Dobus waved it away. "N-Next time…" He turned away, retching onto the floor.

Lass's hand covered her mouth, alarmed at the revolting sight. "Are… you… okay…?" she murmured.

"Just a bit o' seasickness," the pirate said, wearing a wry smirk at his friend's plight. "He'll be fine, lassie. Gets this way every time."

Lassie? She thought she was Lass. Well, she must have misheard.

"L-Lass," Dobus coughed. So her name was Lass after all? "We aren't doin' _anything_ on this voyage, I'm so sick. B-But when we hit land, you and me…!" He started vomiting again. The pirate walked Dobus into his room, and eased Dobus onto the bed.

Lass frowned. Dobus was being horribly vague.

The pirate stepped out of Dobus's room and closed the door. He then turned to Lass and crossed his arms, frowning. "You dumb, lassie?"

Lass (Lassie?) searched for words. "I… um…"

The pirate laughed. "I ain't never seen a girl be so concerned for her kidnapper's well-bein'."

"Kid… napper…" Wait. She knew what that word meant.

A muffled voice came from inside the captain's quarters. _"Oy, Barty! You ain't gonna take advantage of that girl! Nobody is, you hear? She's gonna be MY wife!"_

Lassie's hand covered her mouth. Wife!

Barty the Pirate threw his head back in laughter. "You don't hafta tell me twice, Cap'n!" He lowered his voice so only Lassie could hear. "He seems pretty sweet on you, lassie. Ain't nobody gonna do nothin' to you as long as you're on Dobus's ship."

Lassie didn't know what he meant, but figured that could only be a good thing, so she nodded. "Okay…"

Barty patted her on the shoulder. "See you around, lassie." And he left.

Lassie blinked, still standing outside Dobus's quarters. What to do with all this free time? Honestly, how much time did she have?

Well, it was probably more than just a week, so she may as well get to know everybody.

* * *

Lassie poked her head out of a doorway, and noticed a half-dozen pirates sitting around a table, laughing as they held little pieces of paper in their hands. She eased the door open to get a better look.

"Ayy!" came a voice from behind her, and another pirate was suddenly there, surprising her by putting an arm roughly around her shoulders. "If it isn't Lass!" Goodness gracious, which name was it?!

Everyone at the table gave a hearty "Ayy!" and raised frothy mugs in greeting.

The pirate dragged a startled Lass across the room and planted her in a seat at the table. Lass looked around nervously, conscious of all the eyes focused on her.

Only now did Lass realize one of the pirates was a woman, and she spoke first, leaning across the table and smirking at Lass. "So! You caught the captain's heart, didja?"

"I, I…" Lass stammered.

"You lucky girl!" the woman continued, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, seemingly impressed. "Dobus's been with a lot of women—like, a _lot_ —but I never figured he'd go for the shy type if he ever settled down for real." She leaned forward again, extending a hand. "I'm Nina. Nice to meet you, Lass."

Lass didn't know what to do, so she shook Nina's hand. "Th-Thank…"

Another pirate interrupted her. "Why d'you talk so slow, huh? Is it cuz yer dumb, or do you got some kinda—?"

Nina rolled her eyes and interrupted him. "Talkin' fast don't make you smart, Tank. You're proof of that."

The table burst into raucous laughter, which turned into deep swigs of beverages all around.

Lass was extremely uncomfortable. That was at least the third time she had been called dumb. "I… I don't…"

"Oh, lighten up, Lass!" said the pirate on her right, who wore a thick mustache.

"Yeah, it's all in good fun," Nina said. "I mean, you're practically one of us now, right? Bein' the captain's wife an' all!"

Lass paled. "I don't… want…"

"Listen," said Mr. Mustachio, "if yer on this ship, and you ain't booty, that means yer family, lassie."

The words died on Lass's tongue. _Family._

Would it be so bad?

Mustache Man burst into laughter. "Golly, look at 'er face! I bet she's happy ta be here now!" He raised his mug. "To Lass! The newest member of Dobus's crew!"

"Hear, hear!"

* * *

Lass hadn't had a sip of alcohol, but she felt inebriated by osmosis from all those insane pirates.

The drunken sailors had all slowly returned to their bunks, singing slurred sea shanties all the way, but Lass had no place to sleep. She certainly wasn't returning to Dobus's room; that would just be crude, sleeping in the same room as another man. Honestly.

Lass wandered around for a while, searching for someplace to lie down. Eventually, she found herself above decks, for the first time since they had set sail.

Her breath was taken away by the sight. In the darkness, the sea was a formless entity off of the ship, and blended perfectly with the sky; the millions of stars dazzled her, and she simply stood there and watched them for several minutes, her eyes wide and bright.

Lass sat down in the middle of the deck, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She watched the black ocean; listened to it gently roll against the hull of the pirate ship.

Her head lolled to the side, and she was asleep.

* * *

"Aw. Would you look at her. So sweet."

"Oy, Nina. Do you reckon we prank her while she's like this?"

"Nah. She's too green. She'll take it the wrong way."

Lass slowly blinked her eyes awake. The sun was out, and she could hear pirates toiling away all around the ship, doing whatever it was that pirates did to keep this ship afloat.

Lass looked up, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Nina and Barty stood over her, both wearing grins.

"She lives!" said Barty, and he crouched down, took Lass by the shoulders, and lifted her to her feet. "Say, lassie, I know I ain't one to talk, but your clothes are _nasty._ Looks like you been wearin' em for a month straight."

"Ah… I…"

"We ain't got any female attire on this ship, so you'll be dressing like a man for a while." His grin turned mischievous, and he jabbed his thumb at Nina. "You prolly already knew, since Nina's got nothin' feminine about her."

Nina shrugged. "I ain't offended, Barty."

Lass looked around. "Ocean…" she murmured, gazing starboard. It glittered…

"Yep." Nina took Lass's arm and pulled her along. "Let's get you outta that mess."

* * *

Nina dusted off her hands and placed them on her hips, grinning proudly. "Hey, _now_ you look like one of us, Lass!"

Lass stared down at herself. It was just a normal gray shirt tucked into somewhat baggy sage-green pants, but she was much more comfortable now.

She reached her hands behind her head and found that her hair was done up in a bun. Nina hadn't said anything about doing Lass's hair, but Lass was touched all the same.

Lass smiled. "Thank… you… Nina."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Lass soon found her favorite spot on the ship: the bow, where she could just watch as the waves flow by. People didn't often come by here, and she preferred it that way; pirates only ever seemed to make her feel uncomfortable or threatened. Except Nina. Nina was special.

The rest of the day was uneventful. When the sun was high, there was bread, and Lass ate some. That was all.

That night was very similar to the last. The pirates sat at that same table, mugs filled with liquor, cards on the table that nobody seemed to touch, and laughter: constant laughter. Lass could hear them from above decks.

Lass stared up at the moon, hugged her knees tighter, and resolved to never go downstairs.

As if hearing her thoughts, a voice came from behind: "Yo, Lass!"

Lass looked over her shoulder, acknowledging him.

The pirate gestured for her to join him. "C'mere! We've got a bet goin' that we need you to settle!"

"O-Okay…" she mumbled, and followed him below.

The mass of pirates greeted her with "Ayy!" as before, and Lass was roughly shoved into a chair at the table, just like yesterday. She ducked her head, anxious from all the attention.

"Alright, Lass," said Tank. He pointed to three of the pirates across the table from him, which included Nina. "These posers think that Lass isn't actually your real name, but I think it is. Which is it?"

"Um…" Lass's face was flushed with embarrassment. "M-my… name…"

"Hey, before we get to that," Nina said, grinning, "let's talk about _Barty's_ name."

All eyes turned to Barty, and away from Lass. She sighed in relief.

Barty's eyes widened slightly. "Wh-What _about_ my name?" he asked with forced nonchalance.

"There was a bookstore back in Plegia," said Nina. She addressed some blank stares with, "Yeah, I read, get over it." Then she turned back to Barty. "I found this book of names. Y'know what Barty is short for?"

"H-Hey, Nina, shut up!" Barty insisted.

"It's short for _Bartholomew!"_ Nina chuckled, and the table erupted into furious laughter. Even Lass couldn't resist a snicker as Barty desperately tried to make excuses.

"Sir Bartholomew, _ever_ so pleased to make your acquaintance!" said the Mighty Mustache, adopting a mocking high-class accent. "Would you care for a tea?! Bahahaha!"

"Guys, I'm Barty. _Barty!_ I ain't no high-class—"

The table wouldn't listen, its laughter was so uproarious.

Eventually, the laughing died down, and Nina spoke again. "Anyway, Lass, answer the question. What's your real name?"

"Hey, hey, that's a leadin' question," another man said. Turning to Lass, he said, "Is Lass your real name, yes or no?"

All eyes settled on Lass once again.

Tears welled in Lass's eyes in frustration. "I… I… don't…"

"Damn, now she's crying," a pirate muttered.

"Maybe we shouldn't ask," Nina said.

"You're just afraid of losing your forty gold," said Tank aggressively, and he turned back to Lass. "Well? Answer the damn question!"

"I…" She sniffed. "I don't… know…"

The table fell silent.

"Holy shit," Nina muttered. "Seriously?"

Lass hid her face in her hands, embarrassed of the tears streaming down her cheeks, but unable to stem the flow.

"Damn, now I feel kinda bad," said Tank. "Didn't know you were asbestos."

"Asbes—? You mean _amnesiac?"_

"Sh-Shut up! Your name's Bartholomew!"

Laughter; then normal conversation resumed. As Tank reached across the table to shell out his losses from the bet, Lass slipped away.

She disappeared into the bowels of the ship, away from all prying eyes.

Lass found a dark, solitary corner, and hid there, sliding under a wooden beam and curling into a ball. She cried quietly to herself. She didn't fully understand why she did, and was unable to stop.

After a few minutes, she heard footsteps. Fearing more interaction, she shrunk farther into the shadows and choked back her tears.

Two pirates entered the room, both carrying boxes and conversing as they did so. Lass's eyes widened; she recognized one of them as the one who had torn her letter, back in the harbor.

Letter Killer set his box down and dusted his hands off. "You seen Lass anywhere?"

"Nope." Number Two also set his box down. "Haven't seen her since we left port. Try askin' Nina."

LK's face contorted into a dark scowl. "I ain't sayin' a word to that harlot."

Number Two laughed loudly. "Hahaha! You call 'er that, but she'll have none of it with you."

"Come off it." LK roughly yanked the box from Two's hands, and set it next to the first.

"So Lass, then?"

"Somethin's off about her," LK said. "She ain't right in the head."

"'Course. Can't speak right."

"She's either dumb, or foreign, or screwed up," said LK, "an' I think it's that last one."

"So?"

"So I think the captain's makin' a mistake, gettin' all sweet on this dumbass Plegian girl. He ain't thinkin' with his brain."

"What _is_ he thinkin' with?" Two asked mischievously, as they started to leave.

"You know exactly what, and I ain't sayin' it. I'm too polite."

"Hahaha…!"

Once they were gone, Lass squeezed her eyes shut, and covered her ears with her hands like a child.

* * *

"I _knew_ I saw you here earlier."

The voice jerked Lass awake. She sat up, and bumped her head on the wooden beam doing so.

It was Letter Killer. He wore his sideways, half-toothless sneer as he crouched next to her. "So you're awake, are ya?"

Lass's eyes were wide in fear, and she shrunk away from LK as he spoke.

"Now listen here, lassie," he said, "the only reason I ain't killed you yet, or worse, is 'cause of the captain's word. Now, the captain may be somethin' of a layabout at sea, but he's the best pirate the world's ever seen on land, an' I love 'im like a brother." He jabbed an accusing finger at Lass. "But then along comes little idiot Lass, who thinks she's the prettiest thing since Naga, just beggin' to take my captain away from me."

Lass shook her head vehemently. "No… I don't…!"

"Shut up!" LK hissed. "If the captain settles down, that's it for the pirate life. He ain't never settin' foot on a ship again. And I ain't gonna let that happen, you hear me?!" He roughly cupped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Soon as we land in Valm Harbor, you're makin' yourself scarce, or you're _dead!"_

A fearful tear ran down Lass's cheek. She slowly nodded.

"That's better," said LK, and he let her go. He stood, glaring down at her disdainfully. "You'd best stay hidden for the rest of the trip. I don't want you gettin' too close with my crewmates; we're a family, and you ain't invited."

 _Not… invited?_

Lass sobbed once.

LK's eyes narrowed. "Cry all you want. You'll get no sympathy from me. Be happy I let you keep your life _and_ your maidenhead." And he left.

* * *

Lass obeyed LK's words. For the rest of the voyage, she avoided as much social interaction as possible, only appearing so she could snatch a slice of bread to abate the gnawing pain in her stomach.

As the days went by, Lass found that whenever Nina wasn't working, she was searching for Lass. Lass feared LK more than she longed for company, so she avoided Nina as much as she could. Fortunately, there was an abundance of dark, secluded spots on the ship, so Lass never had trouble hiding.

On one day, Nina lingered in the eating area for a while, evidently looking to catch Lass sneaking out for food. Lass watched her from the rafters, and decided that she simply would not be able to eat that day.

Another day passed, and once again Nina hung around the mess. Just as on the day before, Lass found no way to obtain food without being caught. A sense of bitterness grew in Lass; she knew Nina only meant well, but because of Nina, Lass could not satisfy the ache in her stomach.

A third day. The pain in Lass's stomach was overwhelming, but Nina would not relent. _Please…_ Lass thought miserably, _just… go… I am not… worth this…_

Nina frowned sadly, and, as though she could hear Lass, she sighed and left the mess hall.

Lass did not waste an instant, sliding down from her hiding place and snatching as much food as she was able. After glancing over each shoulder to check for pursuers, she disappeared back into the depths of the ship.

Nina gave up on Lass, and never searched for her again.

* * *

"Land, ho! Someone get the Cap'n!"

Lass heard the words ring from the ceiling above her. _Land?_ Lass thought.

It had been a full month since the pirate ship had departed Plegia Harbor, and Lass had successfully remained hidden from the crew for almost that entire time, per LK's demand.

Lass smiled. The isolation had been so painful… but freedom was at hand. She dismounted from her latest—and final—hiding spot, and, for the first time in weeks, stepped out into the open.

Lass squinted, shielding her eyes as she climbed the stairs onto the upper deck.

She brushed past some pirates on her way to the bow of the ship, where she stopped, admiring the long, black line traced across the western horizon.

"Land…" she whispered.

She leaned forward against the railing, closing her eyes and smiling at the touch of cool, ocean breeze through her hair.

"Gods, its Lass!"

"I'd almost forgotten about 'er."

"I thought she died, like, a month ago?"

A meaty finger tapped on Lass's shoulder, and she jumped, surprised.

"Whoops! Didn't mean to scare ya." It was Tank. "Haven't seen you around, Lass. Where ya been?"

"I…" Lass's cheeks flushed red. "Um… I…"

"Apparently not takin' speech lessons," Tank noted dryly. "Anyhow, I just wanted to apologize."

"Why…?"

"Well, last time I saw ya, I'd been grillin' ya about yer name," said Tank. "I figgered I'd scared you off. Thought it was _my_ fault you disappeared."

"No…" Lass said, smiling and shaking her head. "Not your… fault."

"Hoo! That's a relief. I been kickin' myself 'bout it." He patted her on the shoulder. "Welp! Land's comin' soon, and that means a weddin', amirite? Haha!"

Tank walked away, not noticing how far Lass's face fell at those words.

"Lass!"

It was Nina this time, and before Lass could react, she was being hugged. "Good gods, girl, where have you _been?_ I was looking for you for so long!"

Lass patted Nina on the back awkwardly, and Nina let her go. Lass was unwilling to answer Nina's question, so she simply pointed behind her and said, "Land."

"Loquacious as ever! It's been a while, Lass." Nina smiled wanly, and sighed. "…Not gonna lie, it was nice to have another girl around for once. Too bad you didn't feel the same, I guess."

The bitterness Lass had felt earlier in the month dissipated, and was replaced with guilt. "N-No, I…"

"It's all right, Lass. I'm a pirate, course we wouldn't be best of friends from the get-go." She looked around Lass's head, frowning. "Gods, you didn't even _touch_ your hair since that night, did you?"

Lass touched her hair self-consciously. She could feel that the bun was frayed and messy, and she started to grow upset, feeling as though she had let Nina down in some way.

"Ah, don't be such a crybaby!" Nina reached around Lass's head and undid the bun, letting her hair fall down. "It'll need some brushing before it looks at all good, though. This way." She seized Lass's arm, and pulled her along towards Nina's bunk.

The Letter Killer watched them go, his eyes narrowing.

* * *

Lass yelped, cringing in pain.

"Sorry!" Nina huffed, extracting the brush from her friend's hair. "Gods, this is why I keep my hair _short—"_ She punctuated that with a rough brush stroke—"and _manageable!"_ Another brush, another pained flinch. "I'm not _tryin'_ ta hurt you, just sayin'. It's your own damn fault for having such long hair."

Nina paused, letting Lass's hair fall through her hands. "Though… I do kinda miss long hair. It looked nice, I'll have you know. It was an ocean of black hair cascading down my back!" She looked away awkwardly. "…Don't tell anyone I said that, alright? They'd make fun of me, for sure." She chuckled. "Oh, but look who I'm talking to. My secret's safe, I bet."

Lass looked over her shoulder at Nina and smiled, nodding.

Nina put her hand on Lass's head, turning her back around, and Nina resumed brushing, much gentler this time. "Okay, okay… I know I put up this tough face, and I'm all rude and whatnot, but let's have some real talk. Your hair is actually _really_ pretty." She leaned in, whispering in Lass's ear: "Don't let _anyone_ cut it! You're gorgeous, dear." She leaned back and continued her work. "What a beautiful blonde color. Yeah, definitely disregard my advice. Long hair's the way to go. And keep those bangs, too; they suit you."

Lass smiled. It immediately went away when Nina yanked at another knot, but the thought counted.

"Nina?" came a muffled voice from outside.

Nina grinned. "Hey, the captain's up!" She called back, "Yo, Dobus! Come on in!"

Lass hardly recognized the face that stepped through Nina's door. Dobus seemed gaunt and sported an even thicker beard than he'd had a month ago; though now that she thought about it, she could hardly remember at _all_ how he had looked a month ago.

"Lass!" Dobus lit up. "Fancy seeing you here!"

"Just makin' her a little more presentable," said Nina. "What's up?"

"Ah, right." Dobus gestured over his shoulder. "We're anchoring soon. Gonna need your help with the welcoming party."

Nina rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Dobus, you have a _real_ girl to pretend to be your wife for the authorities. Just take Lass."

"No, no, she doesn't know how we do things yet," said Dobus. "No weaseling out of it, Nina."

"Oh, fine. Lemme finish up her hair, then I'll be right up."

"Sure, sure." Dobus grinned down at Lass. "It's been a long time, but I wager you're gonna be worth the wait." He approached her and kissed her on the cheek before leaving.

Lass's hand brushed across her afflicted cheek, surprised. "Wife…" she murmured.

"Yeeeeah… He's kinda handsy, but he's alright," said Nina with a wry grin.

"I… don't… want to… marry…" Lass said.

"What? Well, don't you want to stick around?"

Lass grimaced, keeping her back to Nina. She thought of Letter Killer. "I, um…"

Nina huffed impatiently. "Well, sorry, but I can't worry about _that_ right now." Nina lifted the brush for the last time, smiling proudly at her work. "Yep, that's some fine-ass hair you've got there. Lookin' good." She turned Lass around to face her. "Hey. Put some more thought into whether you want to marry Dobus. He's not all that bad, honest. You could do worse."

Lass looked away, saddened.

"Welp!" Nina clapped her hands and stood. "Be right back, Lass." She was gone.

Lass sat in Nina's room for a few minutes. Unlike Dobus's, Nina's room was almost completely barren, only populated by a bed and a cupboard (repurposed into a dresser). As such, Lass was not entertained for long, and she left.

As she neared the stairs leading up to the deck, she heard an unfamiliar voice coming from upstairs. She lingered at the base of the stairs, eavesdropping.

"Yes, yes, the paperwork is all well and good," the voice said. It was deep, authoritative. "Unfortunately—and we are _certain_ this has no relation to you—there is a ship of this exact class roaming the seas, run by pirates."

"P-P-Pirates?!" Lass heard Nina exclaim. "Why, Bartholomew, dear! There are _pirates_ on these seas?"

"Shh, honey, it's quite all right," Dobus pacified. "We managed to avoid them, apparently. Well, officer, I assure you, that is not us."

"Of course," the officer said, though he had a slightly sarcastic edge to his voice. "Well, I will be returning with a search party shortly to make sure your ship is free of contraband."

"Naturally!" Dobus said confidently. "Anything to prove my innocence."

"…Good." The officer's voice was laced with suspicion, but Lass heard his footsteps leaving the ship.

She then heard more footsteps descending the stairs; measured and even-paced at first, but soon accelerating to a panicked speed. Lass turned away, realizing she should probably return to Nina's quarters—but as she turned, she found almost the entire crew of the ship behind her, eavesdropping just as she had been. Many of their faces were nervous and sweaty.

"Everyone, everyone!" Dobus said, arriving at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes were wide and anxious, as were Nina's next to him. "We probably don't got five minutes before a search party gets here. Everything contraband goes down to Fargus's Locker; the wasted profits ain't worth jail time. Understood?"

"Aye," many voices echoed asynchronously.

"Go, go, go!" Dobus clapped his hands rapidly, and the pirates whirled into motion.

Lass watched numbly as the hall rapidly emptied of pirates.

"Well?!"

Lass started, facing Dobus.

"I said _everyone,_ didn't I?" Dobus said sharply.

Lass hastily nodded, understanding, and hurried to follow the others.

* * *

Lass had never seen the cargo bay this full of people before. In fact, this was one of her primary hiding places during the voyage; to see it so populous was an alien thought.

But full it was, of pirates grabbing boxes and dropping them out of the wide porthole to the side. After watching a pirate dump a box out, she looked through the porthole, and she watched the box sink into the ocean. Lass was then briefly distracted by the sea spreading outward into the horizon, but she quickly remembered somebody might reprimand her again if she didn't start helping.

Lass knelt down to pick up a box, but a pair of giant hands beat her to it. The Manly Mustachio winked down at her, grinning. "I've got this one, dearie."

Lass smiled. "Thank you…"

"Oy, Lassie!" came a voice from a corner. Lass hurried over to it.

The pirate, whom she hadn't met, spoke gruffly. "You can help out over in the back room, thataway. The stuff there's small 'n light; you can handle that."

Lass nodded and followed his directions.

* * *

When Lass entered the back room, it was empty. She frowned, confused, wondering if she'd gotten incorrect directions.

She saw another door, however, and walked through it.

The ocean breeze assaulted her as she stepped outside onto a balcony, and she smiled in wonder, gazing eastward and out into the ocean. The only disruption of the gentle breeze was the work going on in another part of the ship, and the bustling Valm Harbor on the opposite side of the ship.

"Hey."

Lass faced the voice, and immediately froze in fear, her mouth opening slightly as she retreated until her back was to the balcony railing.

Letter Killer approached her, wearing a malevolent grin. "All contraband goes overboard," he said darkly, and he charged at her.

Lass grunted as his shoulder collided with her diaphragm. With a great heave, LK threw her over the balcony's railing, and off the ship.

Lass didn't have enough time to process this turn of events. She was simply falling, falling… Falling forever.

She remembered the awe she had felt when first laying eyes on this ship. Marveling over how tall it was. Now, that was a curse.

A primal fear arose in her. _Will I… die?_ Lass thought simply, as the balcony shrunk ever farther away.

She closed her eyes. … _Would it be so bad?_

A great impact with the hard ocean water, and blackness consumed her.


	3. Part III

**III**

* * *

Her vision was fuzzy, and she couldn't feel anything, but she could make out a human silhouette above her. She was rising up to him somehow…

* * *

She was very warm now. A claustrophobic warmth, enclosing on her from all sides.

She blinked her eyes rapidly, growing accustomed to the faint, homey light in the room. She slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes.

When she opened them again, she realized she was in a bed. A rather big bed, with a thick comforter over her. Hers was a small bedroom, furnished only with the bed and a small desk in the corner—though there was a nice closet, too.

She touched her forehead, and found something very cold strapped to it. She reached up, intending to undo it.

"Hey, you're awake!"

The voice startled her. In the doorway stood a tall man, two heads taller than her; he appeared middle aged, with light brown hair and, for once, a clean-shaven face.

She frowned, confused. "Where… am I…?"

"This is my home," the man said. "You're in Valm Harbor."

"Valm…" she murmured. Her memories of the pirate ship came rushing back to her. "Ah…"

He sat at the foot of the bed, smiling at her. "I caught you in one of my fishing nets out by the pier. How'd you get there? Oh!" He shook his head, embarrassed. "Sorry, where are my manners. My name is John. What's yours?"

"I… I…" she stammered. What to tell him?

John's smile fell somewhat. Her words were slow, and she didn't seem to know the answer to his question. "Are you… amnesiac? Do you remember anything from before I found you?"

"Yes… well, no… but… yes."

John crossed his arms, confused. "Could you tell me everything that you remember?"

She nodded, and, very slowly, told him everything: waking up in the Plegian desert, being saved by the merchant, being kidnapped by pirates, riding on the pirate ship, and finally, being attacked by one of the pirates and ending up in the ocean.

"Gods almighty," John said, his expression concerned. "That's astounding. I'm sorry for your plight, dear."

She was panting for breath. Never before had she spoken for so long, uninterrupted.

"So… I have… no name…" she said at last. "I am not Girl… I am not Lass…" She sniffed. "What… What am I?"

"What you _are,_ is a poor girl who didn't deserve any of this." John reached forward, placing his hand on hers. "I'll make you better, dear. You've still got some bruises, and you caught a cold from the water, which turned into a fever. Keep that ice on your forehead, and get some rest." He stood. "I'll whip you up some soup, okay?"

She smiled tearfully, nodding.

* * *

When John returned to the room, holding his steaming bowl, he found the young lady sound asleep, her head peacefully lolled to the side.

John smiled warmly, and set the soup on the nightstand next to her before leaving, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

There was a knock at the door, jolting her awake. "C-Come in…"

John opened the door. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine…" She sat up again, yawning. "How… long…?"

"A full _day,"_ said John, a small impressed note in his voice. "When's the last time you slept in a real bed?"

"I… haven't," she said softly.

"Ah. That'll do it." He sat at the foot of her bed again. "Feeling sick?"

"I feel… better," she said slowly. She reached up, removing the cold ice from her forehead. She looked aside at the lukewarm stew on the nightstand, and remembered John's promise from yesterday. "I—I'm sorry…!"

"It's fine, don't worry about it!" John said, waving it away. "It was all leftovers, anyway. I'm not exactly short on food." He took the bowl. "Let me know if you need anything."

She pushed the covers off of her and swung her legs off the side, noticing that she still wore her pirate attire as she did so. She wiggled her bare toes, getting feeling back in them. "I am… all right…"

"It's probably for the best if you kept resting."

After a whole month of isolation, she had gotten just a taste of friendship before LK snatched it away from her. She couldn't bear any more time in solitude. "But, I… don't want to… be alone," she said, looking away in embarrassment. What presumptuous words to tell a stranger.

John softened. "Oh, all right. Come out and lay down on the couch; I'll be eating breakfast. It won't be as comfortable as the bed, just gonna tell you that now." Soup in hand, he left the guest room, with her not far behind.

John immediately moved to wash out the bowl. She, as instructed, found the nearest couch and lay down, watching him work.

"So, I'm guessing you don't have a place to stay?" John asked, his back to her.

"No…"

"No home to go to, no family you know of?"

 _Family._ "N-No…"

John sighed, pausing in his work. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Well… I guess you can stay with me, then. I'm not using the guest room for anything else."

She smiled.

John set the clean bowl down on the kitchen counter, and walked over to her. He sat in a little wooden rocking chair next to the couch, easing into it and letting out a long breath as he relaxed. "Well, you've told me everything you know… so I guess I'll tell you a little about me," he began. "I'm a construction worker: I build buildings, but usually I help out down at the shipyard. I fish in my downtime. I live pretty sparsely," he gestured around the barren living room, "as you can tell; so I've got some nice savings… so don't feel guilty about staying here, because I can afford to take care of a guest."

She nodded.

John looked away. "I… suppose that's the most relevant stuff right now." He looked back at her. "As for rent… Obviously I'm not gonna ask you to do what I do, but some help around the house would be nice." He smiled. "Then we'd be even."

"Okay," she said happily, resting her face into the arm of the couch. "Okay…"

John watched her drift off to sleep again, a tiny smile playing at the corner of her mouth. After a moment, he realized he was staring, and he looked away tactfully with a sigh.

* * *

The next morning, John put her to work for the first time.

"While I'm out, I'd really appreciate it if you could clean up the kitchen area," he said. "There's a feather duster in my closet back there, and some soap next to the sink. That's all, really."

She nodded enthusiastically, and John left.

The job was a very simple one. Two cabinets filled with plain ceramic dishes, a small, round table, and the sink, were all that constituted the kitchen.

With less than an hour behind her, the dishes were organized, everything was dusted, and the sink was rust-free.

She took a step back, admiring her work with her hands on her hips: a pose she'd learned from Nina.

Then, her expression soured slightly. Morning sunlight still streamed through the window, and she had nothing left to do. Nothing but sitting and resting.

Her face scrunched up determinedly. "Not… done," she said to herself.

* * *

The scraping of keys against the lock pulled her from sleep's grip, and she sat up quickly from the couch, stifling a yawn.

John stepped inside, moonlight following him in. He immediately froze, his brow furrowed in surprise. "Wow, did you… clean the entire house?"

She nodded, beaming widely.

John couldn't resist a smile of his own as he looked around, admiring her cleanliness. He hadn't lived in a house this tidy since… "Wow. I was going to have you clean the rest of it throughout the week." He sighed, taking off his coat and hanging it on the freshly-dusted coat rack next to him. "I'll have to find something else for you to do, I guess…" He yawned loudly, the day catching up to him, and next made way for his spot in the rocking chair. "How was your day?"

"It was… nice," she said pleasantly. Cleaning wasn't especially fun, per se, but she felt a certain measure of confidence in successfully completing a task without direction for once. Moreover, her bed was made, and looking forward to a night wrapped up in it brought a smile to her face.

The smile disappeared when she realized she had no way of conveying her feelings to John.

"Come on, now," John said with a grin. "Why so glum? Today seemed pretty productive for you!"

"It's not… that… it's…" She looked away, unwilling, and not sure if even _able,_ to voice her concerns. "I'm only… um… tired… is all." She stood.

"Okay then," John said. She noticed a measure of pity in his eyes. "Good night."

"Good night…"

So, she drifted to her bedroom.

She closed her door and stared at the bed before her. It was immaculately made (if she did say so herself), and the dim candlelight created a lethargic aura in the room, inviting her in.

But the more she stared, the less willing she was to climb into the bed's warm folds.

As she stood there immobile, a single, inexplicable tear drizzled down her cheek, and dripped from her chin to the floor. It was followed by another, and then another.

With no true explanation why, she found herself sliding down the door, sobbing into her hands without restraint. She drew her knees up to her chest, buried her face into them, and continued, letting her sorrows run unabated.

* * *

There was no response to John's knock, so, with a mildly confused frown, he opened the door himself, with the intention of waking her for the morning.

The door halted against something foreign, and his frown deepened accordingly. Enough room remained between the door frame and the door for him to poke his head in, so he did so with curiosity.

To his puzzlement, the foreign object was none other than his guest, who was now slowly rising, having been awoken by her contact with the door.

"Um—" He had no name for her, so he settled with, "—dear? There's a bed right over there."

"I—I know…" she said, slowly crawling towards it and allowing John to fully open the door.

John watched as she came to a stop at the foot of the bed and sat against it, her eyes cast downward and virtually hidden by her bangs.

John sighed and entered her room. He placed his hands on his hips, looking down on her with an almost parental look of curiosity. "What's wrong, dear?"

"N-Nothing…" She turned away, and immediately betrayed herself by wiping her eyes.

"Nothing? I _bet_." He moved to sit next to her.

For a moment, the two were quiet, just sitting there on the floor, peacefully leaning against the foot of her immaculately made bed.

John broke the silence first. "I seem to wake you up pretty much every time I see you," he said. "You sleep a lot, dear. And you can sleep anywhere, apparently!" He chuckled. "Makes me wonder if amnesia is accompanied by narcolepsy."

She wasn't sure what that word meant, but she giggled along with him anyway.

John sighed again. (If her wit was quicker, she would have told him that she may sleep a lot, but he sighs just as much!) But instead, he spoke. "I know you've only been here for a couple days, but I wish you'd talk to me. You can trust me, I promise."

"I know," she said.

He patted her on the knee. "Then, whenever you want to talk… You know where to find me." He stood, and offered her his hand. "Also, I can't believe I never changed you out of that pirate attire. I'm sorry, but you smell _awful,_ dear. Hahaha!"

She laughed too, and he assisted her to her feet.

He gestured out the door with his thumb. "I have some dresses in the other room. You'd probably fit in them."

She nodded enthusiastically.

* * *

John had handed the dress to her on a hanger, and now she stood in the middle of her room, the piece of white clothing hanging from her door.

As she finally rid herself of the clothing that, even now, clung to her with a month's worth of sweat and salty air, her eyes would not leave the dress.

It was very similar to the first clothes she remembered wearing, although her old dress was more of a light green than the stark, pure white of this one. As she dropped her shirt to the floor, freeing her hands, she ran her fingers down the hanging dress. It was so soft, so clean. She had never worn something so beautiful, and she was almost afraid to put it on; she felt almost… almost… unworthy?

But she figured it would be terribly rude to deny John's hospitality, and furthermore, sliding back into the salt-stained pirate's gear was a less than appetizing thought.

She fumbled for a moment in separating hanger and dress, and afterward began her slow entrance into the simple, white, beautiful, perfect dress.

She fit her head through, then her arms, and then the dress slid down the rest of her. She took a breath, loath to look down.

She finally did, however, and the sight of herself wearing something not dirtied by travel and stress was a cathartic sight indeed.

She broke into a wide smile, her hands moving to cover her mouth. The sight moved her to tears; her gratitude was overwhelming, and she swore to herself that she would thank John as much as she was able. She set about making good on that promise, and opened her door.

John looked up from his newspaper, and his smile proved almost as wide as hers. "Your smile is incredibly beautiful," he said. "Why the tears?"

"I… I'm…" She sniffed, but her smile would not waver. "I'm so happy…"

John folded his newspaper and tossed it aside, standing to meet her. He finally looked her up and down. "Gods," he said, impressed, "you pull it off perfectly." He grinned up at her, and winked. "Simple beauty is the right kind of beauty, I think." He clapped his hands together. "Now! How about I whip up some breakfast for the beautiful lady, and then throw away those old clothes of yours?"

She smiled, futilely trying to clear her eyes of tears.

* * *

John got a great sense of satisfaction from the sight of her as she ate her cereal. Even now, with several minutes gone, her smile would not leave, and pride welled in John at this accomplishment of his.

"John…" she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

She leaned forward, looking him in the eye with a tranquil curiosity. "Do you have… family?"

"Do I? No," said John. "I'm afraid not. I've never been able to keep a wife, you see. Forty-one years old, and very single." He gestured at her. "Meanwhile, you look to be, what, mid, mid-late twenties? You've got time left to find a husband."

"Husband? No…" She shook her head. "I don't… want one…"

"Is that so?"

"Yes… What I want, is… a family."

"A family…" John murmured.

His eyes glazed with a faraway look, and she took that to mean that the conversation was over; she returned to her cereal.

"I've…" he began, but instantly cut himself off.

"What?"

"Oh, never mind," he said, forcing a grin and leaning over his breakfast. "Silly thought."

She frowned. "Okay…"

When breakfast was over, she offered to do the dishes for him, a notion that he was easily swayed to agree with.

So there she was, humming to herself as she cleaned their bowls thoroughly and one-by-one, when he spoke that dark question.

"Why do you talk so slowly, dear?" asked John. "Can you not speak any faster?"

There it was. _Are you dumb?_ The words hung over her head, regardless of John's intent in the question.

Her work halted, her hand hovering just over the bowl as the water ran. "Because my mind is sluggish. Because it hurts my head to concentrate too hard. Because, if I tried to speak quickly, either my thoughts or my breath would fail me. Because I can't think properly; not like you do."

That was what she wanted to say.

But she couldn't. The words, the thoughts… they wouldn't come, wouldn't focus. Instead, she was forced to settle with: "Because… I must."

She swiftly turned away, back to the dishes. Her eyes were watering, and she didn't want John to see; she had had her fill of his pity. She hastily wiped away her sorrow, and attacked the dishes with renewed vigor.

John frowned, realizing he had struck a nerve. "I'm—" he began.

"You will be… late for work," she interrupted. She gestured at the door. "I will… see you tonight…"

"…Okay." John stood, grimacing as he grasped his coat. _What a stupid question to ask. What kind of answer was I expecting?_ "See you later."

As soon as the door shut, the bowl slid from her hand and clattered into the sink. She fell to her knees, and the same sorrow from the previous night threatened to overwhelm her again.

It succeeded.

* * *

Try as she might to entertain herself, there simply was not enough work to do to occupy her mind throughout the day. She explored the house, but there wasn't much to it; she made games for herself, but quickly grew bored of them; she tried talking to herself, but ran into the same speech impediment roadblocks as always.

Slowly, over the course of a few hours, she realized something: John had never forbidden her from leaving the house. Why was she still here, when there was so much to do outside?

So she smoothed out her dress, found her only pair of shoes (sadly, the pirate ones), and reached for the door.

She hesitated, her hand hovering just before the doorknob. She knew for certain that he hadn't forbidden her from leaving, but she still felt as though she were being disobedient. Like she was betraying his trust.

She grimaced, the indecision becoming painful.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and grasped the doorknob. Anything was better than being alone with her self-pity.

The first thing she noticed upon stepping outside was how different this place was from Plegia Harbor. This was a residential street, and she was certain Plegia had had nothing of the sort; furthermore, although she could smell the salt in the air, she could not see the ocean through the buildings. If she wanted to see it… she'd have to explore.

She took a deep breath, and couldn't resist a small grin. _Adventure._

* * *

As she walked through the relatively barren residential streets, a fear nagged at the back of her mind. There would certainly be large crowds the farther she got into the city; what if she panicked again? What if, in her panic, she was kidnapped again?

She shuddered. Another month at sea… Not a chance.

She reached the end of her street, and turned the corner, finding herself at the pier. She realized as soon as she did that her street was on a higher level than the pier; she was now on what was more or less a concrete cliff, though the drop couldn't have been more than a few feet.

She froze. There it was. The ocean. Across the pier.

It glittered…

She sat on the ledge, shaded her eyes with her hand, and watched the golden light skipping across the waters. The sun hung low over the ocean, almost blinding her with its radiance; but it was hidden behind the sail of a great ship (a far greater one than the pirates'), which sat docked at the end of the pier. If she looked right and left, more ships were docked all along the harbor, each of varying size and make.

It was then that the bustle of the harbor reached her ears. She noticed giant crowds moving about the pier; dozens of people at a time, maybe, each doing something different.

She watched for a while with childlike curiosity. That man was carrying a box, but that other one was dragging ropes. Those three men, together, were moving a small boat. That man stood behind that window the whole time, shouting about how his groceries were the finest in Valm. Those men over there had funny accents, and spoke all serious-like. Those over there spoke just like the pirates, but dressed better.

She smiled. _What a big world._ It felt like forever since she'd awoken in Plegia, but she had still seen so little.

"Hey there, girlie! You lookin' for someone?"

She shivered in surprise and fear, and faced the voice. To her relief, the man was relatively clean-shaven and nicely-dressed, meaning he was likely not a pirate.

"I, um… no," she said. "Just… looking."

"Browsing, huh?" He nodded his head. "Well, if you want to browse, my shop is the best place for that!"

Browse? She didn't know that word, but if she was correctly guessing from context, then it meant sightseeing.

She smiled and nodded. "Okay!"

"Atta girl!" the shopkeeper said jovially. He offered her his hand, and she let him assist her to her feet. "Right this way!"

She followed just behind the shopkeeper, still taking in the sights as they walked.

Soon, they arrived at the shop. She glanced over her shoulder, and to her glee, she could still see the ocean from here.

"Come on in," he said, holding the door for her.

She peered into the building, and was delighted to see the walls covered from top to bottom with assorted tools and items. She hummed as she entered.

"I carry only the finest," the man said confidently, heading across the room as she 'browsed.' He circled around the counter and stood in the frame of the door behind it; "If you're ready to buy something, gimme a holler!" And he disappeared into the back room.

She smiled in acknowledgement, and continued her perusal. She brushed her fingers along every item she encountered, smiling slightly at each different texture she experienced. She didn't know what most of the items were, but she would be happy to find out.

"E-Excuse me…!" she said. Her intent was to holler, as per his instructions, but she had never spoken that loudly before, and as such didn't really know how.

Luckily, it was enough, because he poked his head out of the back room. "Yes? Found something to your liking?"

"Um… no, I…" She pointed at a long, pointed stick on the wall. "What's this…?"

"That? That's a finely-crafted steel lance, forged by the best blacksmith in the Harbor," said the shopkeeper proudly. His smile faltered somewhat. "…You don't exactly look like the combat type, though."

She shook her head.

"Well, if you have any other questions," he said, maintaining his cheerful demeanor.

"Um, actually…" She pointed at another weapon.

The shopkeeper sighed, and circled around the counter to stand next to her. He rightly assumed she would have more questions after this one. "That's a steel bow. It's finely made, but I'm certain you don't want one." He pointed over his shoulder. "You know, I have _non_ -combat items over there… Healing staves and the like…"

She ignored him, still looking across the wall of weapons (though she took mental note to check out those staves later). Her eyes settled on something that looked very familiar.

She approached the item, and as she ran her fingers across the leather surface, she recognized it as a book. "Book?" This wall was all weapons, except for this one book.

"Ah, that's actually called a _tome,_ dearie," said the shopkeeper. "Mages hate it when you call them 'books.'"

"Mages…?"

He tilted his head. "…You must be a sheltered girl."

She soured, wondering if that was another jab at her intelligence.

But he explained nonetheless, his attitude still positive. "Mages! People who can use magic. They use their spells through tomes such as that one; that particular tome is an Elfire, the second-tier Fire magic. It makes quite a nasty blaze when a mage uses it, but if you don't know how to use one, you aren't coaxing anything out of it." He gestured. "It also has some very cool-looking illustrations in it, which I assume are some kind of magical incantation or something."

She took the book in her hands and, under the shopkeeper's watchful eye, leafed through the pages curiously.

"Yeah, all that text doesn't make sense, but it definitely looks cool," said the shopkeeper with a grin.

"But…" she murmured, her eyebrows furrowing into a distant concentration. "It does…" She settled on a page, and traced her finger along a circular rune embedded in the page. "It's so… simple…" She tilted her head. "I understand…"

The rune, normally of black ink, morphed into a golden hue. To her surprise, rings of incantation formed around her, and fire burst to life on the wall of weapons.

"Holy crap!" the shopkeeper exclaimed, rushing to find something with which to put out the fire.

She didn't react. She simply stood there, staring into the blaze, a small smile playing on her lips. Even when he pushed her out of the way and tossed a fire blanket onto the flames, she didn't awaken.

"Gods!" came a voice from the door, and she was finally torn from her trance.

It was John, rushing in to help the shopkeeper with the fire. "Why are you _here?"_ John asked of her as he patted out the remainders. "I thought you were at home?"

"She's _yours?"_ the shopkeeper asked indignantly. His jovial attitude was gone. "What the hell, man?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," John muttered.

She sensed anger in his voice, and the guilt returned. So, she _was_ disobeying him all along…

"How did this _happen_?" John continued. Pat, pat; then he stood, wiping his brow of sweat and lifting the fire blanket.

The shopkeeper took his blanket back. "She got her hands on an Elfire."

"An Elfire? How'd she—?"

The shopkeeper shrugged, clearly irritable. "I dunno! She didn't even know what a mage _was,_ how was I supposed to know she _was_ one?!"

"Gods' sake…" John muttered, shaking his head and reaching into his pocket. "I'll pay for the damages."

 _"And_ that Elfire," the shopkeeper demanded. "She just used one of its pages."

"Fine, I'll compensate that _one_ use!" John huffed.

The shopkeeper nodded, appeased.

* * *

John's hand firmly gripped her arm as he stormed back to the apartment; no more painfully than how the pirates would do it, but it hurt all the same. His jaw was angrily set, with his eyes locked forward.

She started to grow upset. She had messed up, for sure.

John shoved the door open, and finally released her as soon as they entered.

She waited, cringing like a dog awaiting punishment, as he paced through the living room. To her surprise, however, he stormed into the kitchen instead.

He let out a roar and plunged his fist into his cabinet. The wood splintered before his hand, leaving a jagged hole in the door.

John still didn't meet her eye as he raged out of the kitchen. He entered his room and slammed the door, shaking dust from the rafters.

She squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry.

* * *

She had been unable to sleep due to her guilt, so she had merely lain down on the couch, her eyes wide open as she reflected on what she had done.

"Goodness. I thought you'd be asleep."

John's voice startled her, and she jumped to her feet. Her contriteness still showed in her eyes.

John waved it away. His fury from a few hours ago was all but gone, replaced by a wan smile. "I'm sorry for… how I was earlier. I'm working on some, uh… some anger issues."

"Anger issues…?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I, uh, tend to _really_ explode when I'm angry." He gestured at the fractured cabinet door in the other room. "As you saw earlier."

She shook her head quickly. "But… it was… _my_ fault!"

John sighed. "I guess I never said you couldn't leave. Plus, how could you have known about any of that Elfire stuff? Nah, don't blame yourself, dear. You're fine."

She averted her eyes. "B-But…"

"Look," John said helpfully, "I guess if you want to feel better, you could help me take out that cabinet door? It's pretty much ruined now."

She agreed, and they moved to the kitchen.

John climbed onto the counter, gingerly swinging the broken cabinet open. "Watch out for splinters," he said. "Took me a while to pluck some out of my hand earlier. There's bound to be more." He lifted the door slightly. "Hey. Could you reach behind the hinge, right there? There's a little switch; detaches the thing straightaway." He shrugged sheepishly. "I, uh… This isn't the first time this has happened, so, uh, I made it easy to remove. Just in case."

She smiled, and reached into the dark cabinet.

As she felt around, blindly searching for the switch, a sharp, sudden pain jabbed into her finger. She retracted her hand from the cabinet, and in her pain, she uttered one of the first words she had ever learned: "Shit!"

 _"Hey!"_ John released the cabinet, let it swing shut, and climbed down from the counter. "No, ma'am! You will _not_ use that kind of language in this household, you hear me?"

She nodded, tears in her eyes (in a mixture of both pain and fear of reprisal). He pointed at a seat at the table, and she meekly complied, still holding her afflicted finger.

John took her hand, and, not gently, removed the splinter with his fingers, tossing it aside afterwards. He patted her hand, told her "massage it and the pain'll go away," and took a seat opposite her at the table.

She fearfully kept her mouth shut and complied, rubbing her right index finger. She glanced aside at him, and happened to catch his eye this way; she looked away in a hurry.

"Seriously," John said. "That language is _not_ appropriate household talk." As an aside to himself, he muttered, "I hear enough of that nonsense at work." Back to her, he said, "I guess I shouldn't expect any less from someone stuck with pirates for a whole month."

She pursed her lips, content in letting John believe she had learned that word from the pirates.

After a long pause, John broke the silence with (what else but) a sigh, catching her attention again. "Look at me… scolding you like I'm your parent." He looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry. I know you're too old for that, but I… I just…"

She tilted her head curiously. "You… what?"

He waved it away, and that same forced smile from that morning resurfaced. "Oh, never mind," he said, and she could predict his next words, having already heard them: "Silly thought." This time, however, she had a rebuttal.

"No, no," she said. All her thoughts from that morning flooded back into her, and the words came without effort, for the first time. "I have many thoughts… that I cannot… fully express. …You must speak your mind… because I cannot. Use your privilege… _please_."

He was frozen. Her words had shaken him to the core; she could tell that at a glance.

John stammered as he spoke. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't…" But he realized that an apology was not what she wanted, so he took a breath and continued. "…Okay, then. I've always wanted a daughter." He threw his hands up in surrender. "There it is. My dream has always been to raise a daughter, to have a family. And you, you're… you're so innocent, and sweet, and beautiful… you're exactly what I would have wanted." He smiled, his eyes adopting the same glazed, distant look from that morning. "You asked, before, if I had a family. Family… something I've always wanted, but could never have." He laughed humorlessly, his gaze returning to the present. "And here I am, forcing it on a stranger. You aren't my actual daughter, and I'm not your father. But I've been treating you like you could be."

She leaned forward to grasp both of his hands. She wore a bright, pure smile. "Family," she said softly. "Family… is more than blood… it is earned."

As John stared into her eyes, understanding hit him. "You… you _do_ want to be family?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes…! I would… be honored, to be your daughter."

A strange feeling welled up in John. It was similar to that satisfaction he had felt that morning, but… much stronger. "Yes!" he said. His mouth was dry, and the words were difficult to speak. "Okay, then!" Was… was he dreaming? None of this seemed real. "We're… we're family! Hahaha!"

She had seen the pirates become drunk, and she finally understood what they felt like; the happiness in her dulled her senses, warming her entire body. She joined in on John's mirth, and they continued laughing happily at that table for a brief eternity.

Finally, their humor reached a tolerable level, and she released his hands and sat back in her chair, with him doing the same.

He crossed his arms curiously. "So, you… don't have a name?" His tone indicated that he seemed to be testing the waters.

She shook her head.

The distant glaze returned again. He stared down at the table absently, his lips loosely forming words as he spoke: "If… If I had ever had a daughter… I would have named her… Emily." His vision sharpened again, and he looked up at her, a sort of hopeful trepidation in them as he awaited her response.

"Emily." She slowly rolled the name around on her tongue. "Emily…"

What a word. What a name. Emily. The most beautiful sound…

She could tell the wait was agonizing for him; to make him wait any longer was cruelty. "Emily…" she murmured. She slowly broke into a smile. "I… am… Emily."

A weight lifted from John's shoulders, and he released a heavy sigh. "Emily," he said. "That is your name, from now on."

The same elation from before filled her. A true identity to call her own. She wasn't the Girl. She wasn't Lass.

She was Emily.

"Now…" said John. He paused to stand from his chair. "How about we finish up this cabinet, Emily?"

Emily nodded eagerly. "Let's!"

* * *

The house was filled with laughter for the rest of the evening. Neither John nor Emily truly understood why they laughed, but they could not stop, possibly for lack of trying.

When the light ceased from the windows, and lamps hardly made up the difference, Emily decided it was time for bed.

"Good night," said John, as he stood in the doorway. His smile was warm. "Sweet dreams, Emily."

"Good… night," said Emily, and closed the door as he left.

Emily turned to face her bed. Its folds were still immaculately made from the previous day; the lights, again, invited her into their somnolent embrace.

Without a moment's hesitation, Emily ripped the sheet from the mattress, and placed herself in between. Snugly fit into her bed—hers; Emily's—she smiled, closed her eyes, and instantly drifted to sleep.

* * *

Knock, knock. "Morning, Emily," said the voice outside.

She did not respond for a brief, groggy moment. But she soon remembered, with a happy smile, that this Emily, that was _her._

"Emily," she said to herself. The taste of the word was no less sweet. "Me…"

Another knock on the door brought her to her senses, and she acknowledged him with "I am awake."

"Are you decent?"

She frowned. What an odd question. She liked to think that she was a good person, but such an enquiry seemed highly discordant from the current circumstances.

Thus, "…What?"

A brief pause, then: "Are you, er, dressed?"

"Oh…!" She took mental note of that idiom, for future reference. "Yes…"

He opened the door. The first thing she noticed was the hanger in his right hand: another dress, nearly identical to her current one, with the exception of its ocean-blue color.

Emily frowned, looking down at herself. This white one was so nice. "Another one…?"

"Well… yeah," said John, mildly confused. "Normal people change their clothes every _day."_

"Every day…?" What a depressing thought! She liked this white dress, and was sad to see it go. And what if she became attached to the blue dress, too? It would have to leave as well?

For the first time (and hopefully last, she thought), she found a reason to prefer her lifestyle with the pirates and Martin.

"Well, it's not like I'm throwing it away like I did with your sea-voyage clothes," he said, as if reading her mind. "It just needs to be cleaned."

"Oh…" Well that's not so bad. "Okay…"

John left it on the doorknob for her, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

John glanced up from his cereal. "Looking good, Emily."

She smiled. She was unaccustomed to such regular flattery, but she felt it to be well-founded in this case. This dress was indeed very pretty, she thought.

He gestured at the bowl across from him at the table, and she sat to enjoy her cereal. "So," he began, "it's pretty clear there's nothing for you to do around here. I can't think of any chores, and you don't seem to have any other way to entertain yourself. Plus, you're kind of—and I mean this with love—ignorant about most of the world. So," he said quickly, "if you want to tag along, I'd like to bring you to work with me today."

The word 'ignorant' was a pretty mean one, she thought, but quickly forgot after hearing his following words. "Yes!" she said, excited. "I would… love to come."

"Good," he said, and added, "Emily." He winked at her.

Emily beamed.

* * *

"…Hey. Earth to Emily."

Emily's entrancement with the sea broke. "Mm-hm?"

John sighed. "Emily, could you _please_ stop getting distracted by the ocean? This is the third time."

Emily frowned sheepishly. "I-I'm sorry…"

"It's fine. Now as I was saying, today I'm going to be working on the hull of this ship." He gestured over his shoulder at the schooner farther down the pier; several other workers were already hard at work removing pieces from it. "It's got some hull damage from a nasty collision with a reef."

"Oh," she said, though she couldn't really see much wrong with the ship; the pirate ship had looked to be in worse shape than this one. Well, she wasn't the expert.

As they approached, some of the workers acknowledged John with friendly nods or waves, always followed by a curious glance at Emily.

"Ah! Glad you could make it." A burly man approached and shook John's hand, grinning amicably. He wore a sleeveless shirt and a small cap; both were already damp, possibly from the humid ocean air. However, a breeze brought his foul scent to Emily, and she determined that it was definitely sweat. And fish; ew.

"'Course," John replied. "Like I'd say no, Merc. A friend in need, and all."

"Haha! Yeah, right. More like 'money calls.'"

John shrugged, grinning mischievously. "You got me."

"So, who's the lass?"

Lass. Emily got a brief chill from hearing the word again.

"This is Emily," John said, putting his arm around her proudly. "My daughter."

"Your _daughter?!"_ Merc exclaimed. This apparently caught the ear of the other workers, as well; they all hesitated in their work. "Since when have _you_ got a daughter?"

"Hey, you're hurting my feelings, Merc," John said, that mischievous smile still there. "You don't know anything about me, do you?"

Merc leered suspiciously at Emily for a moment, before turning back to John. "Ah, whatever. So, what, is it bring-your-daughter-to-work day or somethin'?"

"Pretty much. I just wanted to show her what I do. Maybe she'll learn a few things."

"Haha! Maybe a more colorful vocabulary!"

John soured. "Could you not?"

"Oh, right, I forgot. Mister Uptight, Prim-and-Proper hates cussin'."

"There's a time and a place for it."

"Ah, whatever." Merc started back toward the damaged ship. "As long as your daughter doesn't slow progress, she can do whatever she likes."

John turned to Emily as Merc left. "Emily, you can walk around and whatever, but don't leave my sight. Stay near this ship, okay?"

Emily nodded.

"That means that if you can't see me, you're too far away." He grinned and gestured over his shoulder. "These guys are crude, for sure, but they're all right. If they aren't too busy, they'll probably talk to you if you want conversation."

Conversation meant learning, so _yes,_ she did want that; but those people looked rugged and coarse, and she doubted she had the nerve to approach them. Last time she met a new person, she set his building on fire; the time before that, she was kidnapped by the new people. The only decent people she knew had found _her_ first, not the other way around.

"Okay," she said anyway.

John became serious. "And if they teach you any new words, run them by me before you use them, okay?"

Emily giggled.

* * *

For the most part, Emily simply sat on the pier, letting her toes dangle just over the water. She wasn't tall enough to reach the water, unfortunately: she imagined the cool water would feel nice on her toes.

Time seemed to move so slowly. The sun refused to budge from its position on the horizon before her, meaning she still had a long, long day of nothing ahead of her.

She looked back toward the damaged schooner. The men were still toiling away at the behemoth, and hey, there was John, so she was good for now.

Emily sighed and slowly heaved herself back onto the pier and to her feet. She was going to ask John if she could just go home, and maybe try to take a nap.

As she approached the ship, she heard a voice to the side.

"Hey there!" It was a worker on the ship, taking a break from hammering away at a plank to gesture her over.

Emily pointed at herself, confused.

"Yes, you!" He gestured again.

She approached nervously. "H-Hello," she murmured as she neared him.

"Hiya! I'm a friend of John's," the man said, and offered his hand.

Emily shook it, and was surprised at the texture of his hand; she quickly retracted her hand from the uncomfortable feeling.

The man looked down at his grimy palm. "Whoops. My bad." He waved it away. "Anyway, what's your name? I had no idea John had a daughter."

"Em… Emily," she said slowly.

He tilted his head, grinning. "You're a shy one, arntcha? You know, I've known John for a few years, and he's never mentioned having a girl. What's your story, Emily?"

"I'm… um… I'm not… from here," said Emily.

His face fell. "…Oh. I suppose you're… You must be, eh…"

Emily frowned.

He huffed impatiently. "Not gonna make it easy for me, huh? Not gonna finish my sentence?"

Emily shook her head, uncomprehending.

"You must be his ex-wife's daughter," he said at last.

"Wife…?" But John said he was single? That he could never start a family?

He cleared his throat. "So I guess you aren't, then. Awkward." He turned back to the ship, and continued hammering. "Guess I should explain what I was talking about, then. John was married a few years back." He hesitated. "Heh. 'A few years.' It's been more than a decade!" He shook his head. "I'm getting old, Emily! The years are blurring together. Though John's still ten years my senior, heheh…"

"Where… is she?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Emily. "Well, John and I were only work friends at the time, so I've only heard this secondhand. But, way back when, he and his wife got into some kind of argument." He toyed with the hammer thoughtfully. "If I recall correctly… I think it was over whether to have a family or not. John really wanted one, but his wife was against it. This leads to that, and eventually, the two divorce. John's wife leaves town and never returns." He shrugged. "I figured you were some kind of long-lost daughter or something."

Emily shook her head. "No…"

"So you're adopted, I presume?"

Emily frowned curiously. "Adopted?"

The man looked back at her. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, eyes narrowed curiously. "Adopted," he said plainly. "Like… you aren't blood-related?"

She smiled. "Oh!" She nodded. "Adopted."

"Huh."

It was at this point that Emily expected this man to make a jab at her intelligence, or make note of her ignorance at the least.

But instead, he simply turned away. "Good to know, I guess. Nice to meet you, Emily."

"Nice… to meet you, too," she said with a smile.

"Listen," he said, "me and the boys were gonna grab some drinks after work today. You wanna come?" He glanced over at her, met her eye and grinned slightly.

Oh no… Going out again? Certainly John would become angry, and Emily started composing words of refusal.

"Don't worry, John'll be there too." He winked at her, quite certain he had read her mind.

Well, if John was there, then… "Okay," said Emily brightly. "Thank you…"

He waved it away with the hammer. "Don't worry about it. My name's Jeremiah, by the way, but you can call me Jer. Rhymes with 'chair'."

Jer! How wonderful. How Emily appreciated single-syllable names, in spite of her affection for her own three-syllable one. "Jer," she said, nodding.

"Oh," Jer said suddenly, linking his hammer onto his toolbelt and turning to face Emily. "I've got a favor for you. Could you go grab me some water? I left mine at home, so I'll give you some money to buy a drink across the pier."

"Across the pier…" That was definitely out of John's sight, but Jer read Emily's mind once again.

"I'll explain it to John, 'kay? But I'm dying here. Please?" He reached into his pocket and offered her a few pieces of gold. "This should cover it."

Emily hesitantly reached for the gold. "I-I… suppose so." She wrapped her hands around the warm metal, scooping it up and holding it awkwardly.

"Just go over there—" Jer pointed—"and ask for a full canteen." He beamed. "Thanks, dear. You're a lifesaver."

* * *

Well. This was certainly a new experience.

Jer's gold was heavy with symbolic weight, and as she walked to the water-bearing shop, she still held it as she had when she accepted it: awkwardly cupped in her hands, held at chest-level. She walked quickly, anxious for every moment she was out of John's sight.

She stepped in front of the store window. To her horror, she couldn't see any shopkeeper, which meant more waiting at the least, and a fruitless trip at worst. "U-Um," she called. "Hello…?"

"Hello!"

A head popped up from over the counter, startling Emily and shaking a few coins from her hands.

The shopkeeper leaned against the counter and smirked at Emily. "What can I fix you with, lassie?"

 _Lassie._ Shudders… partially because of the memories, and partially because a breeze brought the merchant's scent to Emily.

"Um… w-water, please," said Emily, offering her money.

* * *

Jer glanced aside, having noticed Emily's approach. He broke into a wide smile. "Ah, just what I needed, Emily! Thanks!"

He accepted the drink from her. She sighed with relief as the leather canteen left her hand; that was a stressful experience that she did _not_ want to repeat. The stares, the leers, the anxiety, the reeking merchant…

Jer finished his long drag from the canteen. "Also, uh… A few other workers saw you do me that favor, and they might've forgotten to bring water, too, so if you want something to do…" Jer trailed off, gesturing at other thirsty workers behind him. "Anyway, I've got a job to do, so see you around, Emily." And he returned to his work.

Emily's heart fell. So many people… So much gold to handle… So many trips to the store.

She carefully weighed her choices. Either deliver the water, get some healthy walking in, learn how to handle money, and maybe meet these nice workers, or… sit, and do nothing.

Welp.

Her face drew a determined expression. It was awkward the first time, but this work wasn't hard! Anything for a chance to get on her feet and _do_ stuff, stuff that was helpful and meaningful. These men were thirsty, and she was the only one who could help! Probably!

"Okay," she said confidently, and strode forward to meet the other workers.

"Huh?" said Jer, having forgotten she was still there.

* * *

Emily was panting by her final return from the shop. As the day had worn on, the men had finished their drinks and asked for more. Some of them had even asked for other items, like sweat rags or alcohol. One had even tasked her with purchasing a birthday present for his daughter. (Emily hoped the girl liked necklaces.)

Merc had been kind enough to buy a water for Emily on this latest trip, so before she returned to the schooner to be assigned more inevitable work, she found a few stair steps and sat down to enjoy a moment of passion with her canteen.

She was surprised at the sight before her—one she had not, in fact, seen before. She was facing the ocean, and the evening sky had lit the water a fiery orange.

Emily was amazed. She had seen this view heading west, from the bow of the pirate ship; but the eastward view was just as breathtaking, and substantially different in ways she couldn't quite explain.

By this point, the blood pounding in her ears had ceased, and her headache of dehydration was starting to abate. It was then that she heard conversation from nearby: she recognized the voices as those of Jeremiah and John.

Though she was tempted to stand and meet them, she felt a certain thrill from being able to listen to them without their knowledge of her presence. Eavesdropping; that was the word!

"Ay, John. Got a minute?"

"Hm? Yeah, sure. What's up, Jer?"

There was a pause, and Emily heard a sigh. It was short and impatient; John's were always long and drawn-out, signaling exasperation instead, so Emily reasoned that Jer was the sigher.

"What do you _think?_ Emily. Your daughter."

"What about her?"

"Where did she _come_ from? Ah, don't pull this you-don't-know-me nonsense; I'm your best friend, and I'd never heard of her. How'd you meet her?"

Another sigh. Now that one was _definitely_ John's. "Listen, it's been a long day. Can't I explain tomorrow?"

"Nuh-uh. If you don't tell _me_ right now, then you're explaining it to _everyone_ at the bar."

"I told you, I'm not going out tonight. I have a daughter to take care of."

"Heheh!" The laugh implied a mischievous grin to accompany it. "Are you, now? I convinced Emily to join us there. She's probably already at the bar with everyone else, and if she's there, _you_ have to go, too!"

"You did _what?_ But she's only—"

John's sentence ended abruptly, leading to an awkward pause.

"Only what? …You don't know how old she is?"

"Okay, she's _probably_ old enough to drink, but she doesn't have the maturity."

"That's just father talk. She'll be fine, and she'll be _better_ if you come with us!" A short pause. _"…How_ does a father not know his own daughter's age? Where did you adopt her from?"

"I saved her. She was floating in the ocean, having been injured from a long fall. She has amnesia, and didn't even know her own _name_ , not to mention her age."

Another pause.

"Amnesia… Damn, that sucks for her."

"Language. Anyway…" John's voice lowered to a whisper, but Emily still had little trouble discerning his words. "It's not just amnesia. You spoke to her, right? You heard how she talks?"

Emily's breath caught.

"Yeah," said Jer grimly.

"It's more than just amnesia. It's brain damage. Whatever it was that stole her memories also stole her ability to think. She acts strangely, has slow reaction time, and doesn't know many things. Speaking doesn't come easily to her, and she is a frail girl."

There was a long, poignant pause. Emily's fascination with eavesdropping had turned to a desperate need to hear what came next.

John continued. "She is young… and she isn't strong. So _now_ do you understand why I'm so protective of her?"

"…Heheheh. John, you know you would've made a great dad, right?"

John didn't respond.

"Okay, then. I see your point, but now hear mine. You brought Emily to work with you so she could see the world, right? Well, the language might be a little rougher when we've got some alcohol in us, but we're full of conversation and stories. Emily could learn a lot by speaking to more people than just her father."

There was another pause, just as poignant as the last.

"Hahaha… Fine, Jeremiah. You win. I'll go to the bar with you and Emily. But we're both going home before midnight, you hear?"

"Okay, okay! Ya stick in the…"

Emily listened to the voices disappear into the distance. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared down into her hands. "Brain damage," she murmured to herself, and realization after realization piled onto her.

She was wounded in the head. She was frail in both mind and body. She needed _protection_.

She was useless. She wasn't _needed_. She was the dependent one, always searching for others to protect her.

A feeling welled up in her, the same one from two nights previous, from when she had been unable to enter her bed. The feeling of uselessness, of unworthiness.

Emily. That was her, wasn't it? Wasn't Emily her name? Didn't her identity have value? Or was she human refuse, simply surviving by leeching support from others? Was she as disposable as her previous names, Girl and Lass?…

Alcohol. She had seen its effects before: the pirates would turn in to carefree idiots, exuberant and overly friendly. Uninhibited; that was the word. What Emily needed was some of this. Perhaps its effects would ease this pain.

The walk to the bar was numb and aimless. She didn't know the way, but after a half-hour of searching, she found the place by chance.

She stepped into the bar and was immediately snapped to consciousness by a booming "AYY!"

As Jer marched over, greeted her with a tight hug, and led her to a seat at the giant table, Emily noted that apparently all people acted similarly when drunk, pirates or no.

Fortunately, Emily's seat was placed next to John's, so she was far more comfortable than she ever had been with the pirates.

"Emma! Emma, Emma," a drunken construction worker slurred while gesturing lazily at Emily. "You _gotta_ have a drink! Drinks for the new girl!"

"Ayy!"

"Noice!"

"Get 'er somethin' weak, we don't wanna kill 'er!"

A glass of wine ended up cupped in Emily's hands, she having no recollection of how it got there. She stared into the beverage's rosy depths as the drunken men all around her cheered for her to drink it.

Emily was a little hesitant. Despite all her time on the pirate ship, never once had she partaken in their spirits, and she wondered what kind of taste a drink with such powerful effects on the human mind could have.

With trepidation, and a touch of excitement, Emily lifted the glass mug to her lips, and slowly tilted it inward. The workers around her fell silent, watching eagerly for Emily's reaction.

A small sip by the other's standards, but a veritable swig by Emily's, quickly raced down her throat, leaving behind a slightly burning, bitter sensation.

Ah, yes. This taste. She knew it well; it always reminded her of his laughter. A small smile came to her face at the warm feeling. The workers grumbled to themselves, disappointed at the lack of retching or coughing from their victim.

Her smile instantly died. _Whose_ laughter?

The other workers burst into laughter, mistaking Emily's realization for the taste of the alcohol kicking in. With a cheer, many glasses were clinked, and many swigs were drawn.

Meanwhile, Emily desperately tried to grasp at the remnants of that memory. To whom did that laughter belong? She couldn't make out his face, and even the sound of the laughter was gone, but that feeling in her breast was unmistakable; this _was_ a true memory.

"Ah!" She looked back at her wine, her drink that tasted of laughter. The key. She took another drink, much deeper this time, trying to gain any thoughts she could; but the sensation was one-time-only. It now tasted only of burning cherries. She then gave the coughing fit the workers so wanted, and more drinking was had.

Emily fumbled with the glass as she returned it to the table. Her vision was already glazed, and her movements were even more uncoordinated than usual. With much effort, she eventually placed the glass upright.

But after a mere moment, a mug of beer had magically appeared in her hands! How curious! And those men, they were cheering again; was it for her?

She looked down at the foamy drink. Well, no sense in disappointing them. She took a deep swig of the alcohol; her hands slipped on the wet glass as she did so, and alcohol spilled across her face, causing her to choke and drop the glass onto the wooden floor.

Emily fully expected concern from the others, but they simply cheered and bellowed with laughter once again.

She giggled quietly; it _was_ pretty funny, what had happened to her, after all.

More drinks. Again and again. Why did they give her such tall glasses, if they only wanted her to take a sip of each? Well, whatever. She lost count of how many drinks she had had; they all blurred together. They even stopped having flavor as the night went on—just pure alcohol.

All of them were bested by the drink that tasted like laughter.

She set down her most recent drink, and started giggling uncontrollably. There was no reason, of course. But the mirth wouldn't leave; her laughter wouldn't stop. Jer joined in a moment later. A moment after that, Merc. Soon, the entire table was erupting with insane, baseless laughter.

It wasn't long before the night had devolved, and drinks were no longer being passed Emily's way. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about her, with causeless jollity ruling the night instead.

Emily shakily pushed her chair away from the table, and, with wobbling legs, stood. Her cheeks were rosy, her smile permanent, and her woes forgotten. Uninhibited; that was the word.

She hobbled around the table, looking for one worker in particular. She soon found Jer, and tried to tap him on the shoulder; instead, she ended up stumbling and leaning on him for support.

As he looked up at her curiously, waiting for her to give a reason for being there, a number of insecurities crossed Emily's mind. Did he think she was stupid? There was _no_ _way_ Emily was drunk already, but was Jer? His face was pretty red… Wait. Is he glaring at her right now? Is he like, "hey, get off my shoulder, stupid… idiot person?" Well, he didn't say the words, but, um… uh… What was she thinking about again?

Oh yeah! Be smooth. You didn't stumble just now, right, Emily? That's something a drunk person would do. You did that on purpose!

Emily sat on Jer's knee, one hand still on his shoulder and the other on the table to support herself. Her grin was constant, but it grew a little bit as she attempted to slur out words. "Hee hee… You know, Jerrr, I've been kissed by a _pirate,"_ she said, and burst into giggles. Jer laughed too. "The cap'n was like, 'hey,' and he…" Emily didn't remember the rest of her sentence, but she remembered what she had resolved to do. She clasped her hands behind Jer's neck and kissed his cheek firmly.

Emily burst into laughter right in Jer's ear, right in Jer's arms. Oh yeah, Jer's arms were around her waist! How cool was that? "Hee hee! That's how _pirates_ kiss," she giggled idiotically.

"Wanna see how the _Valmese—"_ Jer began, but a large pair of hands grasped Emily's shoulders, pulling her away from Jer.

"Wh-What?" Emily stammered, struggling to keep her grip on her object of affection, but Jer's arms weren't around her anymore, and this new pair of hands was much stronger than Emily's.

Emily was roughly yanked onto her feet and marched away from the table. "That's enough for tonight," she heard her captor mutter as they walked. Emily exchanged a longing gaze with Jeremiah, who wanly waved goodbye.

It wasn't until after they had left the tavern, and the cool night air assaulted Emily and stirred some consciousness into her bones, did she realize that her kidnapper was none other than John.

It wouldn't be until the following morning that she would regret any of her actions, so Emily pouted childishly, upset with John for interrupting her moment with the handsome construction worker.

John opened the door to his home and helped Emily hobble to her room. "Time for bed," he said, and lay her down under the sheets.

Emily turned away from John, scowling silently.

John chuckled. "You'll thank me in the morning. You'll find him a lot less handsome when there's no alcohol in you."

"Hmph!"

John sighed, doused her lamps, and left her in peace.

* * *

Crippling; that was the word.

Head. Pounding. Stomach. Churning. Words. Punctuated.

John had had the foresight to leave a bucket next to Emily's bed, and yes, she made good use of it that morning.

* * *

John glanced up from his coffee and newspaper. It took all of his self-discipline not to laugh at the pitiful sight of Emily; he didn't even try to resist a smirk, however.

"I'm… sorry," she murmured, so softly John could hardly hear. "No… alcohol… ever."

John burst into laughter. She winced at the loud noise. "Hahaha! That's my girl! Have a seat, dear. I whipped you up some breakfast. It's not the _best_ hangover cure, but food is better than nothing. You got drunk on an empty stomach last night, and that's just the _worst."_ He gestured across from him.

Emily just wished he would keep his voice down, but she complied. Her stomach was mostly settled, but the gnawing pain of hunger had returned, and she wolfed down her breakfast with gusto.

"So now you know," John said. He was finally kind enough to bring his voice down to a tolerable level for Emily. "Alcohol's a pretty powerful thing. You don't want to get carried away in a place like that. Tell me, Emily, do you remember last night, or are there any gaps?

Emily's cheeks flushed red when she thought of Jer. "Oh… Oh, no…"

John laughed again. "So you do remember. Well, glad you didn't get _too_ drunk; when you start blacking out, that's when _really_ bad things happen."

"Were… Were _you_ drunk?" Emily asked.

John shook his head. "No. I had a drink or two, but I wasn't going to get drunk when I had a daughter to watch out for."

Emily withdrew, embarrassed. "I… I'm sorry for… the way I acted."

"Heheh. Don't worry, dear. You didn't do anything wrong, and you learned a few things."

Emily looked away, still blushing intensely.

"I learned something, too." John leaned in to stare curiously at Emily. "Last night, after you were drunk, the strangest thing I've ever seen happened." He chuckled to himself. "You got _more_ coherent as the night went on. The more you drank, the longer complete sentences you could speak."

She looked back at him, surprised. "What…?"

John nodded. A hint of an excited smile played on his face. "Yep. By the time you were hitting on Jer—" Her blush returned, more heated than ever—"you were speaking full sentences."

She blinked. "I-I was?"

John nodded. "That means it _is_ possible for you to talk normally. Now, I'm not saying that alcohol is the answer—it never is—but with enough practice, you could probably learn how to talk all by yourself."

Emily's breath caught. The idea was nothing short of a romantic one to her—her _dream._ Speaking easily, like everyone else…

"That, in addition to your rather limited vocabulary, has given me an idea." John's eyes twinkled. "I'm going to tutor you. I'm going to teach you how to speak."

Emily's hands clasped over her mouth, and her eyes watered. "P-Please…!" she said quietly.

"Of course, dear. We'll start today; at work, stay by me, and I'll teach you words as I work. Tonight, we'll go over more, and you'll practice speech." A thought occurred to him. "Do you know how to read?"

Emily thought of the Elfire tome. "I… think so."

"Well, I'll teach you that, too." John grinned widely. "And whenever you're home alone, you can practice reading, too. How does all this sound?"

"Wonderful!" said Emily. "Just… wonderful! Please! Please teach me!" She leaned forward quickly, to take John's hands, but the sudden movement triggered a sharp pain in her head.

John laughed, causing her to wince once again. "Sorry, dear. Hangovers don't disappear just 'cause you forgot about them."

Emily pouted, grasping at her pounding head.

* * *

Emily took a deep breath, reciting the words in her head over and over. She closed her eyes, and even closed the book as well, to prevent herself from cheating.

She then opened her eyes, and met John's. "The Fire Emblem is the national treasure of Ylisse, composed of a fang from the Dragon God Naga. In ancient times, it was known as the Shield of Seals, and its powers were used to seal the Earth Dragons. The first Exalt of Ylisse also used its power to seal the Fell Dragon Grima into an eternal slumber. It is composed of five gemstones: Gules, Azure, Argent, Vert, and Sable. When all five gemstones are merged with the Fire Emblem, it can unlock its true potential for dragon-slaying."

John's hands had been covering his mouth in anticipation, and they now clasped together in front of his proud smile. "You did it," he said quietly. "You read the whole passage from memory, and without any pauses." He outreached his arms, and Emily walked into the embrace. "I am so proud of you."

Emily took a long breath as she melted into her father's arms. She could fall asleep like this.

But she was too excited. It had only been a month, and she could already speak entire paragraphs at a time without stopping! Granted, every word in that chapter had been ingrained into her memory, so it wasn't _quite_ the same as learning how to summon words for herself. But it was a start.

Meanwhile, John merely marveled at the sound of his daughter's voice. He had had no idea of the charisma her voice exuded; hearing her speak lulled him into a state of tranquility. Truly, she had a gift, and she had been squandering it for far too long. He was proud to be the one to let her talent bloom.

"Okay!" John pried himself from Emily's grip. "Today's an important day! We should mark it down." He turned away, reaching for a pen. "What is it, the seventh?"

Emily blinked. "Wh… What?"

John glanced over his shoulder at her. "The seventh? Of April?"

She shook her head.

John sighed. "Still got some gaps to fill, I guess."

* * *

 _What day is it again?_ Emily thought as she walked. _Ah… October tenth, that's it._ She nodded at Merc as she approached the work area. "Good morning, Merc. How is the ship today?"

Merc scratched his head as he stared up at the behemoth. "She's a beaut, for sure. This is a mighty-fine warship."

"A warship? Truly?" Emily looked up at the great beast. Entire planks were shattered, and pieces of the mast dangled by threads. "Did it get in a fight?"

"Guess so," said Merc with a shrug. "I've been hearing rumors lately… one of the northwest regions of Valm is getting kinda uppity, tryin' ta take more land and whatnot. You know how these things are. As long as it doesn't come here to the east, then I don't got a problem; damaged ships means more work for me."

"I see," said Emily. "So, where is John? I brought him lunch." She patted her satchel, smiling pleasantly.

Merc laughed. "Bahaha! See, _this_ is why you have kids! Got someone to bring lunch for ya. I ain't got nobody for that."

Emily's smile grew wider. "Oh, don't worry! I brought you one as well." She produced a paper-wrapped sandwich for him.

Merc stared down at the sandwich, then up at Emily, then back at his sandwich. "G-Gee, I… You're just so damn sweet, Emily!" Tears welled in his eyes as he accepted the meal. "Th-Thank you! Er—" He wiped his eyes quickly, and pointed toward the ship. "He's over working on the central mast, thank you for the sandwich, now you should really go talk to him instead!"

He pushed her along, still wiping his eyes. She smiled knowingly as she left.

It wasn't long before a familiar voice caught her attention. "Morning, Emily!"

Emily smiled. "Oh! Hello, Jeremiah."

Jeremiah pried himself away from his work to meet her. He wore a sideways grin, as he always did during Emily's visits. "Listen, I know you're able to say all these syllables now, but I actually do prefer Jer. Easier to say, and makes me sound less highbrow, you get me?"

"Yes, I do, actually," said Emily. _Bartholomew._ Heehee! "How are you, Jer?"

"Welp, I gotta house, food, and a job to let me keep both, so I'm pretty satisfied," Jer said as he nodded. "There's just one little problem _,_ but I've been thinking of a way I could fix that."

Emily softened. "Jer…" she murmured. "I know where you're going with this, and I'm sorry, but no."

"Oh, come on," Jer egged. "One date, that's all I ask! If you don't like me then, then we don't have to do another one."

"I've told you, I really don't want a husband," said Emily. "I'm… I'm more of a family girl than a romantic one." She shrugged. "I don't want to be with a man, and that's final. No date will change my mind."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," said Jer. He faced her straight-on and looked into her eyes seriously. "One date. That's it. After work today, you and I go grab a sandwich at the shop at the end of the pier. As friends. And if you don't have fun, not even a little bit, then I'll never pester you again."

The phrase that most tempted Emily was 'as friends.' She hesitated thoughtfully.

Jer could see he had placed her on the fence, so he pressed his luck: "How long have we known each other, Emily? Six months, right? That's a pretty long time."

"Six months isn't all that long, you know," Emily teased. "I've known Merc longer than you."

"By a matter of hours! And don't forget, _you_ came on to _me_ the day we met."

Emily frowned. "That's not fair, Jeremiah. It was my first experience with alcohol."

"Oh really? Remembering 'the drink that tastes like laughter' says otherwise."

Emily rolled her eyes. His good-natured teasing drew a smile from her. "I told you that in confidence, and you'd use it to elicit a date from me?"

Jer threw his hands up defensively, though he still wore that wry grin. "Hey, I'm desperate for that 'yes.' You know what they say: all's fair—"

"—in love and war, yes," Emily finished. She sighed; it was a long and exasperated one. (She had inherited that sigh from her father, Jer noted with amusement.) "…Fiiiiine, Jer. One date, and that's all. Okay?"

Emily saw the relief in Jer's eyes, and that confident smile. (Jer thought he had scored some kind of victory, Emily noted with amusement.) "Well, it's about ti—"

A deafeningly sharp _snap_ resounded from behind Jer, and both he and Emily turned toward the sound.

The central mast was creaking and tilting starboard toward the docks. A worker was still atop the mast, perhaps twenty feet in the air, and clung for dear life as the structure began to collapse, with him on it.

Several other construction workers clustered around the bottom, attempting in any way they could to steady the structure; but its fall was inevitable.

The central mast. A cold chill ran through Emily as she realized who that worker was.

"John," Jer uttered in alarm, confirming her fears. They both raced toward the warship, hoping to save him somehow.

But they were too late. Before they had even boarded the ship, the mast passed its event horizon and began to tumble; the other workers scrambled to get out of the way of the massive wooden structure.

 _"Everybody get down!"_

Jer slid to a stop, but he saw Emily would not follow suit, so he grabbed her by the back of her dress, pulled her off of her feet, and sheltered her body with his own as the mast crashed down onto the docks.

Swaths of the docks were torn apart and cast into the ocean, and the already damaged ship's starboard crumpled under the massive weight. Wood, splinters, and saltwater were cast into the air by the great impact.

* * *

Emily was briefly winded by her collision with the ground, and her ears rang.

"…you okay?"

Emily turned, dazed, to the man standing over her.

"Emily!" Jer shook her slightly. There was a look of horrified concern to him that she had never seen before. "Are you okay?"

She slowly grasped what he was saying, and nodded. _Gods, this is just like six months ago,_ she thought. Her thoughts were so slow, and she could hardly speak from shock.

Wait! John!

Her eyes widened, and she pushed at Jer to let her up; he relented, and she jumped to her feet and hurried toward the fallen mast, which now occupied where the end of the docks used to be.

Several workers on the docks were just now rising to their feet to survey the damage, and Emily brushed by several of them as she ran.

She stopped by the mast, and, while feeling many eyes upon her, she searched for John. She soon found him; most of him was under the mast, bruised, bloodied and unconscious.

Without a moment's hesitation, she dove for him, and attempted in vain to pry the mast off of him. Tears of frustration and terror welled in her eyes at her futile efforts.

However, within moments, a dozen other workers joined her, and more continued to come.

"Hey! Emily!" Merc's strong hand grasped Emily's shoulder, turning her to face him. She shook with broken sobs, but he took her firmly by the shoulders. "Listen to me, Emily! I need you to go get help, okay? Go get the knights, or a healer if you can find one!" She nodded rapidly, shaking tears from her eyes. He patted her on the back roughly. "Go!" he ordered, and off she ran.

Merc grimaced as he returned to help move the mast. "Poor girl… She shouldn't have been here to see this."

* * *

Emily ran faster than she ever had before. She was soon panting for breath and her frail muscles cried for relief, but she didn't relent. John's life was at stake, and never before had she been so motivated to move.

She hesitated as she reached the end of the docks. Though a crowd was starting to form at the spectacle of the fallen warship, no healers nor knights were in sight.

Her eyes settled on the shop across the street. _Healing staves and the like,_ she recalled. She wasn't exactly sure what to do with a healing staff, and she was still banned from there for that whole Elfire incident half a year ago, but she had no time for uncertainty; she ran for the shop, her other options exhausted.

She burst through the doors, and the shopkeeper glanced over his shoulder with a wry grin. "I carry only the—" His smile fell as he watched Emily dash for the non-combat section. "Wait, it's you!"

To the merchant's further horror, Emily grabbed a Mend staff and immediately ran out of the store. "H-Hey! Wait!"

As Emily ran, she heard his voice pursue her: "Stop! _Thief!"_

Emily paid it no mind, and continued sprinting. She was almost to the docks, almost within spitting distance of John, but—

A firm, iron glove grasped the back of her hair, much more roughly than Jer had. This time, as she was firmly yanked to the ground, she recognized this hand as belonging to a Valmese knight.

 _Oh, good!_ Emily thought exasperatedly, as she struggled against his painful grip on her hair, _they aren't there when I need them, but they're right there to inconvenience me!_

"Got you, thief!" the knight spat.

 _"No!"_ Emily exclaimed, and struggled harder. She gripped the staff tightly as she did so. "My—father—needs me!"

She struck the knight across the cheek with the metal rod, and he flinched and let out a startled cry of pain.

Emily didn't waste an instant, jumping to her feet and rushing back out to the docks. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder to identify her pursuers, and she saw a half-dozen more knights rushing to back up the one she had injured; not to mention that shopkeeper still waddling after her.

Emily looked forward, to the collapsed mast, and ran faster.

Still, Emily was no athlete, so the knights were faster even in spite of their heavy armor. She narrowly ducked under the glove of a soldier, and sidestepped a second one's foot that intended to trip her.

There he was! Emily could see John under the mast, right there, a mere twenty paces before her. She only wished the knights would see as well, to understand why she had done what she did; but no, they seemed single-minded in their determination to capture her.

Ah! She was so close to him, so close, when, at last, a steel glove wrapped around her arm, yanking her to a stop. _"Nooo!"_ she cried, wrestling against the knight; but she could not reach him with the staff, putting her at a severe disadvantage.

There was a motion out of the corner of her eye, and after a wet _thwack_ resounded next to Emily's ear, the grip released her.

She stumbled, surprised at her newfound freedom. She looked up at her savior.

Jeremiah stood there, his fists clenched. The soldier was recoiling from the punch, and the other knights hesitated, their gaze turning from the girl to Jeremiah.

Jer nodded at her. "Help John!"

Merc and several other workers backed Jer up. "You get him, lassie!" Merc said. "We'll hold off these guys!"

The foremost knight scowled. "You are interfering with imperial law!"

"Up yours!" Jer snarled.

"So be it!"

Emily didn't stay to see any more, instead rushing forward to John, who had been freed from the mast in Emily's absence. She quickly crouched over him and raised her staff.

Just like the Elfire tome all those months ago, instinct and habit took over for the healing staff: despite lacking any training, she immediately knew how to operate it.

With a bright green flash, the Mend worked its magic on John. Many of his wounds closed, and his bruises lightened. He twitched as his consciousness began to return.

John's eyelids fluttered. "Nn…"

Emily cried out in relief and joy, as tears streamed from her eyes. She buried her face in John's collar, embracing him tightly as she wept.

John hazily put his arm around Emily to return the hug. "Augh… What… What happened, Em?"

Emily pulled away, but could not summon words, simply hysterically crying and laughing all at once. She dove back into the embrace.

John frowned in confusion, and glanced over Emily's shoulder. Behind her was an even odder scene: all those workers, and several knights, just standing there watching them. The knights sure looked uncomfortable.

John shrugged with his free arm, grinning wanly. "Morning, everyone," he croaked, and elicited a few chuckles for his trouble.

* * *

"Listen, I'm really sorry," said the shopkeeper for the hundredth time. "I, I really had no idea of John's condition."

Emily smiled pleasantly. Her adrenaline high had not quite worn off, so her usual focus tactics failed her at the moment. "It's… okay," she said slowly. "You didn't know…"

"No, it _really_ wasn't cool of me! John coulda died if those knights had caught you!" he insisted. "Listen. I'd give you a Silver Card if I had one, but I don't, so I'll just give you a discount any time you come into my store, okay? Oh—and you're unbanned."

"Thank you… erm… very much." Emily inclined her head respectfully.

John rolled into the conversation atop a wheelchair. "Hey, don't worry about that Mend staff. I'll buy it off of you."

"Buy it?! No!" The shopkeeper shook his head vigorously, while gesturing at John and Emily. "It's all yours, for free. It's the least I could do."

"Thanks," said John, and wheeled to face Emily. "I think we should go home, dear. It's been a long enough day already."

"Okay," said Emily. "I-I made you a sandwich…"

* * *

Emily opened the door for John, and after a few bumps against the doorframe, John managed to get his wheelchair through.

"Doc said I shouldn't walk on this leg for a while," John said. "Said it might never _fully_ recover, in fact. But as long as I can still walk and use my hands, I'll be fine." He spun around to face Emily and grinned. "Don't worry about me too much, okay, Em? I know how you are: you'll be all protective of me for a while, and end up hurting yourself. I don't want a repeat of last time I had the flu."

Emily sighed. "But you were hurt… You were hurt so badly. You're in a wheelchair right now; how could I _not_ be concerned?"

"Just trust me, Emily," John laughed. "I'll be all right." He turned away. "Now! Could you bring that Mend over here?"

"Um… sure." She grasped the staff she had been entrusted with, and followed John into the living room.

John turned to face her. "So, it turns out you know how to wield staves! That's quite a feat, you know."

"I-It is?"

John nodded, and rested his cheek on his fist. "It's not something that comes naturally. It's something you're taught. I once… I once knew a girl who wanted to be a cleric, but she never got the hang of high-level staves."

"But it was so simple," said Emily. "Just a wave and a thrust, and… ta-dah?"

"See, it's _not_ that simple," said John. "There's a technique to it. Not to mention that that's a Mend staff you're holding. A beginner would start with a Heal staff and work their way up to Mends, and then beyond to Physics, and Recovers, and Fortifies. Naturally, we could never afford any of those, but… But that's not my point. My point is, you used a Mend for the first time, and you used it perfectly. It healed my wounds." He crossed his arms. "If I didn't know any better, I'd ask, 'how do you know how to use staves?' But that'd be a fruitless question, since I've taught you everything you know. It must be something you had learned before you acquired your amnesia." He sighed. "Same as that Elfire tome, way back. You intuitively knew how to use mid-level magic without any education. I wrote that off as sheer chance, but when you also got a Mend to work, _that's_ when I got suspicious. So!" He clasped his hands together eagerly. "That's a roundabout way to say that you have talent with staves, and the potential to learn more. A healer is a very, _very_ valuable position, not to mention useful, as you learned today. I want you to learn more."

"Learn more? How? _You_ can't use staves, can you?"

"Haha! No, no I can't. But by using more staves, and practicing, you can become better. Healers are always needed." He shrugged, grinning. "Maybe this is your calling, Emily."

Emily knew that John knew Emily well. He had handpicked that word—'needed'—the word that haunted her all this time. A reason to be valuable, and helpful, and needed?

Was there ever a doubt she would agree?

"Good!" John said, beaming. "Now, would you run to the shop and buy a few manuals on healing staves? The shopkeeper might refer to them as Arms Scrolls."

"Okay. Oh! And before I forget…" Emily delved into her satchel, and, at long last, delivered her promised sandwich to John.

He grasped the meal in both hands. "Don't you have one?"

"Um, I, uh…" She grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. "I kinda gave mine to Merc."

* * *

"Knock, knock," came a voice from outside, accompanied by actual knocking.

Emily placed her staff on the table and got the door. She broke into a wide smile. "Merc!"

"Hey there, Emily," Merc said, grinning amicably. "Just swingin' by to check on your father."

"Back here," John called from the living room. Emily let Merc in and closed the door.

Merc sat on the couch, opposite of John. "How're the legs?"

John wiggled his toes. "Not paralyzed," he said. "I could probably be back at work within the week."

"No rush, no rush," Merc said. Then, his expression darkened. "I can't believe today actually happened. I've been yellin' at everyone, tryin' to figger out how we could've let this go."

"It's the crewmen on the ship," said John. "They didn't report how damaged the mast was. When I checked it myself, that's when things went to… well, you know."

Merc wore a deep scowl. "I'll rip the bastards apart. You coulda died."

John grinned. "Thanks. Give 'em one from me, wouldja?"

"Bahaha! You've got it. To be honest, I thought you'd be madder."

"I've been working on keeping my temper in check," John said.

"Yeah, well, this is something _anyone_ would get mad at." He gestured at the elephant atop the table. "So, it turns out the lass can heal? That's a pretty big deal, innit?"

Emily smiled.

"Definitely," John said. "We've been sorting through Arms Scrolls for the past few hours so she can learn more."

Merc nodded. "We've had workplace accidents before that could've been a _lot_ less gruesome if we'd had a healer. You're a special girl, Emily."

Warmth flooded through Emily's chest at the words of praise. "Th-Thank you, Merc! That means so much…"

"Think nothin' of it! You saved a good friend of mine today. It's the least I could do."

"And, about the knights, I…"

Merc waved it away. "Like I said, you saved John because of whatcha did! The knights were green and young, and they understood they were in the wrong. Nobody's in trouble 'cause of you, so stop worryin'."

Emily sighed in relief. "Thank you."

He gave her a thumbs-up. "Well, John, hope you get better soon. Emily, good work today. See you around." Merc shook John's hand, then Emily's, and then he left.

The room was quiet for a moment. Emily still glowed from Merc's praise.

John broke the silence first. "We should really have you practice with Heal staves instead of Mend," he noted. "They're more durable _and_ cheaper, so they're better for practicing." He pushed the staff off of the scroll, and tapped the parchment. "Now, we should get back to it, don't you think?"

"Yes!" Emily said eagerly.

* * *

Knocking again.

Emily rubbed her eyes groggily as she answered the door. "Who is it…?" she mumbled absently.

Her sleep-addled eyes didn't recognize the silhouette before her, so she was further irritated when they didn't respond for a moment.

"It's me," the voice said quietly.

"Oh." Emily blinked her eyes rapidly. "Hello, Jer. What brings you here at this… ungodly hour?"

"I'm just swinging by to check up," he said cheerfully.

"Mmph… John's asleep," Emily said, as she started to close the door. "Try again in the morning, okay…?"

"Wait!" His hand stopped the door. "I've already spoken with John since the accident. I haven't spoken with _you."_

Emily threw her hands up, exasperated. "And it can't wait until the _morning…?"_

"No, I, I couldn't sleep," Jer said. "Can we talk?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "I guess so."

She stepped out into the cool air, and closed the door behind her. She crossed her arms across her abdomen reflexively as the breeze touched her skin. "Okay. What is it, Jer?" She chuckled briefly. "You know _I_ wasn't the injured one, right?"

"I remember when we first met," Jer said, not partaking in the laugh. "The way you used to speak."

Emily immediately soured. "…You know me better than to talk about this, Jer."

"It's important!" he insisted. "Today, after the accident, you reverted. You were talking just like you used to. I needed to come find out that you were back to normal."

"I am," said Emily. "I promise." She touched Jer's cheek. "You're very sweet, Jer, but… it's so _late._ I should be asleep by now."

Jer did not relent. "What happened to you?" he asked. "When I heard you speaking… like that… I got scared. I thought, for just a moment, 'did she lose her memories again?' It was _terrifying,_ Emily." He took a breath. "I'm not sorry for being concerned about you. I… care about your well-being."

"I know," she said softly. "I know."

Emily closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the night air.

"I… I never truly _recovered_ from… how I was. Rather, I just practiced talking. A _lot._ Eventually, through repetition, I became disciplined enough to speak normally. But, despite appearances, it still takes conscious effort to concentrate like that. Sometimes… when I'm stressed, or… when I'm upset… it's hard to concentrate, and I can't speak properly." She shrugged, still wearing her ever-present amicable smile in spite of how deeply insecure she felt about this. "That's what you saw today. I was terrified, so… all my discipline, all my concentration on speaking… it just went away. But it's back!" she added quickly. "I've calmed down, so now I can talk again. Okay?"

"Emily…" He sighed, relieved. "I kinda feel bad saying this, but… after I started wondering whether you had lost your memories, I could only think, 'man, it figures that this would happen _just_ when I got her to agree to date me.'"

"Agree to date you?" Emily said, surprised. "I don't remember doing anything of the sort."

Jer's grin disappeared, and his eyes widened in horror. "What? No!"

Emily giggled. "Hee hee! I'm only joking. Listen: Our date will be next week. Okay? The seventeenth. We'll grab a sandwich down on the pier; you promised, remember?"

He grinned widely, shaking his head as he did so. "You snarky little…" Then, he nodded. "Actually, before you go back inside, I, uh, I got you a present."

Jer reached into his satchel and produced a small, leather-bound book. He offered the gift to Emily. "Here."

She accepted it, and leafed through its pages. "Empty…" She looked back to Jer. "What is it?"

"I-It's a diary. Or a journal, if you prefer." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I got it for you… so you can write things down. You know… just in case you ever, uh…" He paused. "Or you could just use it as a planner, or something, I don't know… Or a doorstop—"

"Sh." She put a finger to his lips, grinning coyly. "Thank you. It's a wonderful gift, Jer."

She leaned in close, and he turned his face to meet hers; but she placed her hand on his chin, turning him away, and she kissed him gently on the cheek instead.

"Sorry, only a pirate kiss today," she teased. "See you later, Jer."

He touched his cheek, numb to the fact that she had returned into her home. He felt a lingering disappointment that it wasn't more, but… this was a huge step, regardless.

He grinned. "See you," he said to the air, before leaving the beautiful girl's doorstep.

* * *

 _October 17th_

Emily pouted somewhat as she chewed the Pier Sandwich, as Jeremiah called it.

He furrowed his eyebrows and stayed his sandwich-filled hand for a moment so he could speak. "What's wrong? Don't like it?"

She paused for a moment, to swallow her bite, before speaking. "I do," she said dejectedly. "But… this puts all _my_ sandwiches to shame."

"Hahaha!" He readied the sandwich for eating once more. "I warned you, didn't I?"

"Heehee! You did, you did." She took another bite. "Anyway, how'd that talk go with John?"

"Er…"

* * *

He'd expected anger. Anger he could deal with; he had seen John's rage many times, and so he steeled himself for the bellowing and the "I swear I'll kill you if you touch her" and such that would certainly come.

But John's stare was entirely neutral.

It was _far_ more terrifying.

John raised a single finger, causing Jeremiah to flinch. "Rule one. No means no. If she says no to anything—anything at all—you will not force her to do it. Implicit 'no' counts. I _will_ kill you if you disregard this one."

Ah, there it was. Longtime friends, had known each other for, what, a decade? But Jer still believed him one hundred percent. "Y-Yes, sir."

He raised a second finger. "Rule two. No alcohol for either of you."

"Yessir…"

Another finger. "Rule three. NO MEANS NO." The sudden loudness of John's voice startled Jer. "I cannot emphasize this enough. While you are gone, I will be sharpening my carving knife. I hope I won't have to use it."

"I-I understand, sir."

"And rule four. You kids have fun." John smiled pleasantly.

* * *

John shuddered. _I'm not a kid, but I sure felt like one back there._ "I-It went fine."

After a peaceful moment of eating, Jer swallowed his food and placed his remainders on his plate. "So, Emily. Tell me a little about yourself."

Emily hesitated, surprised by the question. She hastily finished her mouthful and cleared her throat. "W-Well, there's not really much to tell that you don't already know. I… have amnesia, so probably more than twenty years of my life are just gone, irretrievable. I've had one memory, ever, from before, and it was nothing more than a subconscious sensation." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "As far as new memories… You know all about John… I'm pretty sure I told you about the merchant?"

Jer nodded. "And you covered the pirates, too. So… I guess I know you pretty well, huh?"

Emily laughed. "And I'm not very secretive, at that. Anyway, I guess that leaves you."

"Guess it does." Jer leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. His brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Hmm… Let's see… I've lived in Valm all my life. I was raised on a farm, so that was what I always wanted to do. Own a farm, that is. But my father insisted I leave home and see the world, get work somewhere else first; so I did, and came to the harbor.

"I got into construction and repairs when I met Merc about… twelve years ago? Damn, it's been so long. I've been working with him ever since. Now, John was already working there, but I we didn't really become friends until I'd been there for a few months." He snapped his fingers. "Yeah! Eleven years, that was the number. I've known John for eleven years."

Emily smiled mischievously. "Is this going to be a long story, old-timer?"

Jer looked mortified. "O-Old-timer?! I'm thirty-one! I can't be more than… six years your senior!"

Emily giggled. "Oh, stop. I'm only teasing." She gestured. "Please continue."

"Right…" He sighed. "Anyway, the dream is still to live on a farm. The way I see it, whenever I settle down, I'm going to move inland and raise my family there, just the way my dad raised me and my siblings."

"Siblings?" Emily asked, but her mind was already wandering.

Life on a farm, hm? She imagined the setting from books she had read: a small house, large fields, hot days, cool nights… Some cows, maybe? …Or were those only on ranches? Whatever.

She tilted her head, a tiny smile growing. A quiet, solitary farm, nothing but her and her family. She imagined her children running about, causing trouble… She tried to calm them, but they only really ceased their troublemaking when Father walked in. "Kids, listen to your mother," she imagined Jer saying.

Her smile died. _I-Is that what I want? Jer? …Is it too soon to think these things?_

"…So yeah, those are my two brothers." Jer leaned back and crossed his arms. "That's my family."

Emily cleared her throat as she snapped to. She hoped she wasn't blushing. "U-Um, good, good," she said. "They seem nice."

Jer chuckled. "Yeah, they're alright. Testosterone-addled idiots, but what're you gonna do."

"Mmhm, yep." She bobbed her head. "So, these _sandwiches_ , am I right?"

* * *

The sun was low on the western horizon. If the two had been able to see the sea, they would likely marvel at the orange skipping along the waters. As it was, a line of houses blocked their view; everything was still tinted the same warm color, however.

"Um."

Jer hesitated, and he turned to face his date. "What's wrong? Your house is right down the street."

Emily nodded. Jer noticed a slight red hue to her cheeks, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's the matter, Emily?"

She didn't respond. Her expression was entirely neutral, with that blush being her only giveaway.

"Do you want me to leave you right here?" he asked. "So you can walk the rest of the way?"

She didn't respond in any way.

Jer hesitated for a moment as he awaited an answer. Finally, he threw his hands up, defeated. "All right, then. I'll let you go."

He took one step in the opposite direction before stopping again.

"…You had fun, didn't you?" he said slowly, anxiously.

She responded at last, but only with the smallest of nods.

Jer put his hands in his pockets and grinned at her. "Fun enough to earn another pirate's kiss?"

She was back to unresponsiveness.

Jer took a step closer to her. "Answer me, Emily. Please?"

But he noticed something. Her blush had intensified.

Jer watched her suspiciously. "Maybe… more than a pirate's kiss?"

She turned slightly redder, but otherwise did not react.

Jer remembered his conversation with John. He reflexively rubbed his neck. "I don't know if you're saying yes or no, Emily. I can't know unless you tell me."

But she refused to speak.

Jer huffed impatiently. "Fine. Good night, Emily. I really did have fun." He turned away.

He didn't make it another step before he felt a gentle tug at his sleeve.

Jer turned around, and Emily dropped her grip on him. Her expression was still unreadable, and she avoided eye contact.

Jer threw his hands up, exasperated. "Emily, what's with this shyness all of a sudden? …Wait, no. This isn't shyness, this is _indecision."_ He pointed an accusing finger at her. "You don't know _what_ you want. You want me to make the decision _for_ you."

She cast her eyes downward nervously.

Jer acknowledged her latest show of expression. "Hit the nail on the head, did I? Well, I _can't_. I can't make that decision for you. It's now or never, Emily: what do you want right now? Should I stay or should I go?"

Jer fumed silently, placing his hands on his hips and tapping his foot as he awaited her answer, which never came.

"Fine! I've made my decision. No. I'm going home."

He turned away, and immediately turned back. "It's our first date, anyway! That's the sort of thing _established_ couples do."

He turned away again, and actually made it two steps this time before storming back over to Emily. "Don't give me any of this 'but we've already known each other for so long' nonsense, either!" he said loudly. "A-All that time doesn't count, because we weren't _together_ then!" He shook his head. "Even that kiss on the cheek last week was over the line, so… so…"

Emily was still. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears.

Jeremiah panted. "...Gods, you're so _frustrating,_ Emily! Why can't you just…?"

He promptly took her by the shoulders, drew her close, and pressed his lips against hers.

The sudden movement startled Emily, and she grasped Jer's forearms to steady her balance.

What a sensation! What feelings! How… how unique!

What an adventure this was!

At the same time, Emily couldn't help but tremble with fear. Was she doing it right? His mouth seemed to be open and moving, but she was too frozen to budge her lips. Were there gender differences when kissing? Should her hand grip be as intense as his? Gods, she was just standing still and letting him kiss her, meanwhile he actually seemed passionate about the moment.

But… this was Jeremiah. She found herself trying to stand on her tiptoes, to get on his level; her arms wrapped around his neck, and his moved to her waist. Regardless of any of these insecurities, she could be certain that she was safe with him.

 _Could you imagine?_ Emily thought to herself. _I could've been doing this with Dobus by now if he'd had his way. What an experience THAT would've been!_

She accidentally snickered at the thought, which broke off her kiss with Jer. Her nervousness compounded the humor she found in the situation, and she found herself giggling uncontrollably into Jer's shoulder.

Jer didn't exactly know what to make of this situation, and wondered if he should feel insulted, but nevertheless joined in on the chuckle.

Eventually, Emily stopped laughing, and waved away his inquiries. "I'm… sorry," said Emily slowly. "I… er… Thank you…"

"You're welcome?" said Jeremiah, without realizing what he was saying. "Ah, I mean… Oh, forget it."

"Um… Um…" Gods, her mind was a total blank. She gestured over her shoulder absently, remembering _something_ was that way.

"You want to go home now?" Jer asked. His hands fell from her waist, and after a moment of concentration, she did the same, dropping her arms from his neck.

"Y-Yes!" she said suddenly. "Home."

Jer broke into a wide grin once he realized her plight. A great sense of manly satisfaction filled him at the thought that that kiss was enough to defocus Emily. "Do you want to wait a minute to compose yourself?"

She slowly processed his question, and once she deciphered what those words meant, she nodded. "That… um… would be… best." John seeing her in this condition would likely spell doom for Jer, she realized.

Jer sat against a nearby house and patted the ground next to him, offering her a seat. She obliged.

Both Jer and Emily were quiet for a long moment, each grinning quite stupidly.

"So, Emily," Jer asked.

"Hm?"

"What do you think my chances are for getting a second date?" he said coyly.

"Eh…" She waggled her hand in a 'so-so' gesture, whilst grinning playfully.

"Oh, you little…" he began, and they both laughed briefly.

Emily cleared her throat, focusing. "Um… How does… How does tomorrow sound?"

"Tomorrow sounds wonderful." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before standing, and helped her do the same. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Anywhere." Her eyes alit with an adventurous glee. "Take me someplace new."

"Someplace new…?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That's a tall order, but I'm happy to fill it."

Emily hopped on her tiptoes, excited. "I can't wait! I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Jer."

"I can't either," said Jer. "But for now… we've gotta get you home before sun sets, or your dad will skewer me."

* * *

He was right.

"Cutting it a little close there, Jeremiah," said John as they arrived. His eyes were narrowed suspiciously, despite the fact that Jer had pointedly put an arm's length between him and Emily. Without his eyes leaving Jer, he addressed Emily: "Did you have a good time, dear?"

"Yes!" said Emily, walking into the house. "We'll be going out again tomorrow as well."

John's glare intensified. "Is that so?"

Jer wriggled in place uncomfortably.

"Oh, ease up on him, please," Emily said, touching John's shoulder. "You know Jer. He's a good man, don't you think?"

"Yes," said John dangerously. "I know him all too well."

Jer loosened his collar and looked away. He became very conscious of the many guy-stories he had told John and the others at the bar.

After an intense pause, John said, "Well, he's lucky I couldn't find my carving knife." He turned around. "Night, Jer. See you at work tomorrow."

"S-See you," said Jer, and to his relief, the door slammed shut.

He closed his eyes and reminded himself: _Emily's worth this._

* * *

 _March 2nd_

"Is it not—? Here, let me see."

John slowly lifted himself from his chair, propped himself up onto his good leg, and limped over to Emily. He brushed his fingers along the Mend staff, and frowned at what he saw. "Yep. It's just about out of juice. I'd say it probably has one more use in it before it breaks."

"Breaks? Oh no!" Emily said, upset. "B-But it's such a useful staff… And it comes with so many memories!"

John smiled wanly. "Truth be told, Emily, I'd rather _not_ remember how you got that staff, and I'm sure you'd agree."

How she got the…? Oh! That ship's mast… Gods, that was so long ago. She found herself agreeing with John: this staff was almost a testament to the horrors of that fateful day last October.

"I'd say it's time for its swan song," John said cheerfully. "Sure, it's been instrumental in helping you learn healing, but its time has come." He gestured. "Swing it one last time. Keep in mind how staves are when they break, though."

Oh yes. Emily had burned through enough practice Heal staves to know of the deafening _crack_ emitted by a staff as the last of its magic escapes it.

Emily gestured carefully, already wincing in expectation of the sound. John glowed in a bright green light, and then, in spite of all Emily's preparations, the staff scared her half to death by snapping into two jagged pieces.

She shook her head quickly to try to stem the ringing in her ears. "Gods above, that's awful," she said. "It gets me every time."

John laughed. "Well, anyway, speaking of remembering: wait here a moment, would you, Emily?"

"Certainly." She smiled pleasantly and watched him disappear into his room.

After a brief moment, John returned, carrying a long, thin, blanket-covered item. He limped to his chair and placed the item across his lap, before addressing Emily with a warm smile.

"Do you know what today is?" he asked.

Emily frowned, and checked her journal from her satchel for confirmation. "Today is… the second of March." She returned her book to the bag and looked back up at John. "Why?"

"Indeed," he said, "March Second. This is the one-year anniversary of when I found you floating along the pier, having just been abandoned by the pirates."

"One year?! Has it truly been so long?" Emily asked, surprised. "I can hardly believe it."

"For me, it's the contrary," said John. "I feel as though I've lived a full life with you… yet this is only the first year of many."

Those words filled Emily with warmth. "I…"

"So," John interrupted, "in lieu of an actual birthday for you, I've decided that March Second, henceforth, shall be your birthday. It seems only appropriate."

"Y-Yes, yes it does," she said. Her heart rate jumped slightly in excitement and newfound anticipation. "So…those blankets, they conceal a, um, birthday present?"

John beamed. "Yes indeed." He offered the item to her, and she stood to accept it.

She placed it on the coffee table, and, with mounting excitement, began to unravel her present.

A glint of gold revealed itself; soon after, she had uncovered the upper half of the present, and realized what it was.

With even greater haste, she extracted the remainder of the gift from its packaging, and tightly grasped her new item with awe.

"A Recover Staff," she murmured, admiring the ornate, lunar-shaped head of the tool. "I… I can't imagine…" She turned to John. "How much did this _cost?"_

"Don't you worry about that," John chuckled. "I just couldn't think of a better present for you."

"W-Well, for good reason!" She faced the work of art again. "This is the greatest thing you could ever purchase for me…!"

She placed the Recover on the couch and hurried into John's arms, laughing melodically. "Oh, Father, thank you! I love you so much!"

John blinked and reciprocated the hug. His surprised face melted into a smile. "Emily… You've never called me Father before. Nor have you told me you loved me…"

She pulled out of the embrace. "Well, I do, Father!" she said, in a seemingly defiant tone. "I love you, and it is a great disservice to you that I have never done either of those things!"

John shrugged. "Better late than never," he teased, and embraced her again.

After a peaceful moment, John gently nudged her to disentangle herself from the embrace.

John sat forward as Emily returned to inspect her staff. "Anyway, you've got a date today, right? When's Jer supposed to get here?"

"Soon," said Emily. Her excitement compounded; she had nearly forgotten! "Any minute now, I would imagine."

* * *

'Any' minutes later: a knock at the door.

"There we go," John said, and slowly answered the door for her. "Heya, Jer."

"Heya," said Jeremiah with a grin. "Emily home?"

"Yep, just give her a minute."

"Sure thing."

Emily soon appeared at the door, wearing her beautiful smile for Jer. "Good morning, Jer."

"Good morning," said Jer. He looked her up and down. "Love the dress."

Emily smiled. It was the same compliment as ever, but as she brushed her hand against the sun-colored fabric, she still glowed at the praise. She knew that whenever Jer said something, he meant it.

"Oh, and happy birthday," Jer added, tossing in a wink for her benefit. "I got you something."

"R-Really?" Emily said eagerly. How many people were in on this whole 'birthday' thing? "What is it?"

"It's a surprise! Here's a hint, though: it's at our favorite restaurant, where I'm taking you for your _glorious_ birthday lunch." He offered his arm to her, and nodded at John. "See you later, pops."

"Agh." John rolled his eyes. "I don't know how many times I've told you not to call me that. You're lucky I never could find that carving knife." He waved the laughing couple off. "Anyway, have a good time, you two."

"Farewell, Father," Emily said, as she linked her arm through Jer's. "Have a great day!"

"You too, sweetie." The door closed.

Jer raised an eyebrow at Emily as they began to walk. "'Father'?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I can hardly believe I haven't called him that before today."

Jer shrugged. "Me neither. Guess now I'm a little more irritated that I can't call him 'pops'."

Emily laughed.

* * *

Jer stopped before a small building, pulling Emily's attention from the ocean. "Here it is!"

Emily scrunched up her face in thought as she observed the face of the restaurant. "I don't know this place… I thought you said we would go to our favorite restaurant?" She blinked. "Come to think of it, what _is_ our favorite restaurant? The place by the pier closed back in December."

There was a twinkle in Jer's eye—showing a combination of mischief and pride, if Emily judged it correctly. "Heheh. Just you wait."

* * *

The building was small, damp; it was clearly new, however, given the brightness of its wood planks that had yet to succumb to the mildew this coastal climate facilitated.

Emily looked around the nearly-empty room. It would be some time before word got out about this hole-in-the-wall, even if their food was as good as Jer implied.

"Here you are!"

Two plates of food found their way to the table. "One for you, and one for the beautiful lady. Please enjoy! Also—" The elderly waitress winked—"Happy birthday, sweetie."

"Th-Thank you," said Emily, but her eyes were focused on her meal before her. "This is…"

"The legendary Pier Sandwich, back in all its glory," said Jer dramatically. He seemed on the verge of ecstatic laughter. "It's back!"

Emily laughed with glee. "Goodness, I haven't had this since… I don't even remember!"

"This'll always remind me of our first date, personally," said Jer. "One of the best days I've ever had."

Emily smiled, placing her hand on one of his. "The same for me."

"But this isn't all," said Jer. "I got you a present. A more tangible one."

"Really?" she said, her curiosity piqued.

"Well, it's no Recover staff, sadly," said Jer, "and John wouldn't let me buy you a Bolganone, so… Here."

He proffered a small box, which she accepted without hesitation.

Emily slowly opened the box, and, in awe, lifted the golden necklace within.

Jer winced. It only just now occurred to him that the box could easily have been misconstrued as bearing a ring instead. Seeing the way she had taken the box from him without even a moment of thought compounded his doubts: was it a ring that she had _wanted?_

Ah, but she broke into a wide smile, so Jer knew: Emily hadn't made that connection, and was simply eager to accept her second ever birthday gift.

He let out a breath, looking aside. What was he so worried about, anyway?

"It's beautiful, Jer! Thank you so much!" She clutched his hands tightly, the cool metal interfering with her grip. "I love it!"

"I love you too," said Jer.

They both hesitated. Goosebumps ran down Jer's spine. _Th-That's not what she said._

"You do?" Her smile was gone, but her eyes were still wide with surprised curiosity.

"Uhh…" Jer suddenly knew how Emily felt on occasion. His mind was a total blank.

"You said you love me," she murmured. "D… Do you?"

"Y… I… Yeah," Jer said uncomfortably.

She frowned. "Huh. I thought saying 'I love you' was a family thing."

Jer rolled his eyes as the tension left him. "Ugh, you're hopeless, Emily," he laughed. "Yeah, there's family love, but… but this is a whole different thing. Romantic love—you know?" Jer paused. "It's kinda like family love, I guess. It's when you like someone so much you could see yourself being… well… family with them."

"Oh," she said. She began to gather conclusions from context clues. "So… I suppose that is a very serious thing to say."

"Uh… yeah."

There was an awkward pause. Neither seemed to want to move.

Emily broke the stillness by starting to attach her necklace. She wore a small, mischievous smile. "Well, I see no reason to refuse your offer. Very well then, Jer." She finished clasping the device behind her neck, and leaned forward, very nearly diving right into her sandwich dress-first. "I love you, too."

Jer, quite literally, had no words to say. He simply mirrored her lean-forward and kissed her, successfully caking his shirt in part of the Pier Sandwich.

Emily smiled gently as their lips met. _So this is what a birthday feels like? Well, I am quite sad this is only an annual occasion._

They pulled away, and Emily laughed as Jer realized what a mess he'd made of his sandwich. She placed her finger on her chin thoughtfully as she watched him salvage his damaged meal. _What a day. Saying 'I love you' to two men in one day?_ She giggled to herself. _Emily, you mischievous girl._

She found this thought so strange and humorous that she could not help but voice it. "Hey Jer, have you ever said 'I love you' to more than one person before?"

"Hm? Yeah," he said absently, still picking pieces of the surprisingly-fragile bread from his shirt.

Emily found herself startled for a moment. She hadn't realized it at the time, but she hadn't expected any answer other than 'no.' "R-Really? You have?"

Jer stopped mid-dab. He, again, had misunderstood the intent behind her statement. "N-No… that's not what I meant."

"Well then, what _did_ you mean?"

"…Ah, man." He squeezed his eyes shut, kicking himself for the sins of his stupid mouth. This was _not_ the time to talk about this. "I meant that… I've… I've told someone I love them before."

"Like… romantic love?"

He nodded, his lips pursed tightly.

Emily wasn't sure if she wanted to hear any more, but her curiosity got the best of her, so she pressed on. "U-Um… Who was this?"

"I just wanna start by saying this was a _long_ time ago," Jer insisted quickly. "I hadn't even met John yet. Also, I was young, so if you think I'm stupid at any point, blame it on teenage me."

She hummed in quiet laughter. "Go on."

He let out a relaxed breath, glad he had eased some of the tension back. "Okay… Well, there was this girl, this neighbor, I'd known since we were both pretty young… We were ten, eleven maybe, when we first met. Well, later on, I come of age, I start thinking about girls—you know how boys are, I'm sure—and I thought, hey, you know who's cute, _Rose_ is. Oh, and her name was Rose."

"Pretty," said Emily simply. Her chin was clasped in her hands; a tiny smile played on her face as she listened.

"So Rose and I dated for a long time." He shook his head, laughing quietly. "A long time. Four, five years? Sweethearts, people would say. You can imagine how I must have felt about her. I really did love her, or I thought I did at least." He shrugged. "I was young. What did I know?" He shook his head. "Anyway, that ended when Rose's father had his farm foreclosed upon, and they had to leave. The next year, I left my father's farm for Valm Harbor, and, well…" He shrugged, grinning. "Here I am, almost thirteen years later. The end." He reached for his mangled sandwich, and he took his first bite at last. "Mmm… To be honest, I think today was a pretty inappropriate day for me to tell you that story."

Emily shrugged. "I don't know… I thought it was kind of sweet."

Jer smiled, at least as soon as he swallowed his bite. "Well then, good on me for telling it." He gestured at her sandwich. "Dig in! Story time's over."

* * *

Emily was the happiest she had ever been. A loving father in John, a valuable companion in Jeremiah, and a comfortable life in the bustling Valm Harbor.

It was only a matter of time before it all crumbled, one piece at a time.

* * *

 _June 8th_

Emily frowned with concern. That look in Jer's eyes…

She placed down her Pier Sandwich, likely the fiftieth one she and Jer had shared since her birthday back in March, and stared at him seriously. "Jer, tell me what's wrong."

Jer's eyes snapped back to the present, and he forced a smile for Emily. "Hm? No, no, nothing's wrong." He gestured. "Please, enjoy your dinner. I'm just not feeling very talkative today."

Emily's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she did as she was asked for now.

* * *

Emily's obedience failed her the moment they left the restaurant. She stopped Jeremiah just outside, released his hand, and placed both of hers on her hips. "All right, Jer, talk to me."

"Ah…" He looked away, scratching his head anxiously. "I, ah…"

Emily noticed Jer's hand hovering next to his right pocket. "We've been together far too long to keep secrets from each other, Jeremiah," she said. "Please, talk to me."

Jer sighed, and he slowly faced Emily. The dread in his eyes frightened Emily. "Man, I… I probably should've told you this days ago. As soon as I found out…"

"Found out what, Jer?" She touched his sleeve anxiously. "Tell me."

Jer sighed again, this one much more drawn out. Emily recognized that he was searching for words, so she hesitantly waited for him.

"I… should, um… probably just show you." He reached into his pocket—his left one, surprisingly—and from it, he produced a small letter. "Here."

Emily accepted the item. Her hand trembled slightly as she grasped the letter, trying to make out words on the seal.

"V-Valmese… Valmese Army?" She looked up at Jeremiah. "What does this mean?"

Jer gently freed her of the letter and returned it to his pocket. "Emily, I've been conscripted. Drafted."

"Drafted…" She had to dig into her vocabulary for that word. "Oh… Enlisted into the army?"

Jer nodded, smiling wanly. "Yeah. There's this… emperor guy from the northwest. He's apparently been traveling across Valm, conquering and… uniting, I think was the word, _uniting_ the other provinces. You know—emperor stuff." He shrugged, evidently hoping for nonchalance. "And… I'm able-bodied, so I've been… forced, you could say, into the army."

"Okay," Emily said nervously. "Wh-What does this mean?"

"It means I'm leaving," said Jer. "I have to. I have to report to Fort Steiger by tomorrow."

"Leaving?!" Emily exclaimed. "F-For how long?"

Jer's face fell further than she could have expected possible. That… that was despair that she saw in him. No doubt about it; she used to make the same face on particularly lonely days on the pirate ship.

"I don't know. Training is three months, and Naga knows how much longer I'll be serving, or where." He took a breath, and his hand shifted to his right pocket again. "Honestly, Emily… I have no idea when we'll see each other again."

Emily was frozen to the spot. "Wh… Wh…" she stammered, but she did not know where to guide her sentence. She simply stood, and waited, and watched Jeremiah's right hand.

His hand slipped into his pocket, and there it lingered for an uncomfortable moment. Emily could only hear her own breath and her own heartbeat.

His hand began to lift from the pocket, and for a brief instant, Emily caught a glimpse of something small and dark—but Jeremiah dropped it back into his pocket, and he left the pocket empty-handed.

Emily grasped at a sentence at last: "What—What was that?" Her hand wavered as she clumsily pointed at the pocket. "In your pocket?"

"Hm?" Jer said, his go-to response for forced casualness: that is, his tell for when he lied. "Oh, that's nothing. Gotta deliver this little thing for… for, uh, Merc."

"Liar!" Emily reached for it, and Jer recoiled from her grab, surprised by her sudden vehemence.

"E-Emily!" he hissed, glancing around. "You don't just do that in public!"

"T-Tell me what's in your pocket," she said. Her eyes were starting to water. "Please."

Jer looked heavily conflicted. His eyes were cast away, and his hand once again returned to his pocket. "…Okay," he murmured.

He pulled his hand from his pocket, revealing the mystery item to be nothing other than… a small, black box.

It was quite familiar. Emily tried to place the last time she had seen such a thing.

After a brief moment, her eyes widened in realization, and her hand touched her necklace. "Jer, is this a _present?"_

"W-Well, it…" Jer began, but Emily would have none of it.

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?!" she snarled. Jer was instantly surprised by the venom in her voice. "Is it?! Because another necklace isn't going to win you anything! Or, or it's a bracelet, maybe? _No!_ You can't make up for leaving me by—by buying me things! I'm not some… some…" Emily began to panic as she forgot what word she was searching for. _Oh, Naga, not again!_ "I-I'm not…"

Jer found this as the opportune moment to interrupt. "Emily."

 _"What!"_ she shrieked. _"What,_ Jeremiah?!"

Jer offered her the box. "Just…"

She crossed her arms, silently refusing for a long moment. Streams ran from her eyes as she stared at the offensive item in Jer's hands.

Finally, she hesitantly reached out and accepted the box. Jer's hands fell, and he moved them to his hips and began to pace nervously.

With trembling, uncoordinated fingers, Emily gradually opened the box, revealing a miniscule piece of jewelry within.

"A ring?" she asked. She looked up at Jer skeptically. "H-How is this… supposed to, to… change my mind?"

Jer continued to pace, throwing an anxious glance her way every now and then. "Rings… are symbols of, of… th-the unity between a, uh… a man and a woman." He raised an eyebrow, hoping she would not require further explanation.

The unchanged look in her eyes, however, suggested otherwise, so Jer steeled himself and said the words.

"It's a symbol of marriage." He stopped, looking down on her with apprehension. "Like… you and me, married."

Emily's thoughts were still sluggish, so Jer practically watched her journey through each step of realization. She ended with her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and watering. "J-Jer, are… are you…" She looked down at the ring, mouthing, 'Wife…'

Jer cringed. "Yeah, I got that ring so I could propose… so… you could come with me. You could live off-base, and I could see you on odd weekends, and… if I left for war, I'd have someone to come home to." His following laugh was high-pitched and extremely nervous, and was accompanied with a hand running through his hair. "Because I don't have any family! I've got an empty house here, and an emptier farm that used to be my father's. And wouldn't you know it, Emily, I love you, and I'd love for you to be with me."

Emily had nothing to say. Literally, her mind offered no words to acknowledge Jer's. She could only stare at the ring, at the promise Jer had made.

Jer solved the problem for her. He reached out, wrapped his hands under hers, and with them, he closed the box. He then slid the box out from her shaking fingers, and in another instant, the promise was back in the pocket from whence it had come.

"But it wouldn't work," Jer said softly. "I love you, Emily, but I couldn't provide for you like your father can. He and I have already discussed this at length. With me, you would live a spartan life, with an uncertain future. And what if we had _children?_ No…" His hand patted his pocket. There the promise was, and there it would stay. "It couldn't happen."

So Jer forced a smile, offered Emily his hand, and said, "Today was very fun. It was a long day, and one I would happily choose as my final day in Valm Harbor. But now I must take you home."

Emily was numb. She saw the hand before her, and without thinking, she shakily reached for it, ineptly lacing her fingers through Jeremiah's.

"That's my girl," Jer said softly. He gently pulled her closer, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and began to walk her home.

* * *

It was on the walk home that Emily regained her senses, but she had no words to say to Jer. She simply trembled as she fought tears, and refused to meet Jer's eye, though she did not resist his comforting arm on her shoulder.

Jer recognized this, and made no attempts at conversation.

Suddenly, they stopped, and Emily stumbled as her next step was cut short by the tightening of Jer's grip on her.

"We're home," Jer whispered.

Emily turned, and, sure enough, there was the old, oaken door she was so used to. For the first time since the previous year, Emily saw no comfort in this door; all it represented was the future.

As soon as she walked through that door, Jer was gone from her life.

"Emily," Jer said. At long last, she turned to face him, ineffectively trying to wipe a tear from her eye as she did so. "This is goodbye."

Emily said nothing. Her arms were crossed over her abdomen; she felt as though she may vomit.

"I love you," Jer said. "Please, never forget that."

She nodded, still refusing to meet his eye.

Jeremiah grimaced. "I… I'll miss you." He gave a small, curt wave. "Bye, Emily."

Emily cleared her throat of tears. "J-Jer," she murmured.

He stopped. "Hm?"

She met his eye. "I'll be… waiting," she said.

Jer broke into his wide grin she so adored. "I don't doubt it," he said. He reached out, and she did not hesitate in taking his hand.

The two looked each other in the eye, linked by their hands, for an all-too-brief eternity.

Jer's eyes softened, and his grip began to relax. "Bye…"

She nodded, sniffing. "Bye…"

He gave her hand one last, tender squeeze, before he turned away, marching off into the unknown.

Emily's arm returned to its position, and the urge to vomit rose once again. She took several long minutes to compose herself; many breathing techniques she had acquired from John while learning how to speak also applied here.

In, out. In, out. Peace…

The creaking sound of her home's oaken door startled her. "Good evening," came a voice from the intruder.

A Valmese soldier, clad in red armor, stepped out of her home. Emily brushed some hair over her ear and forced a pleasant smile. The man tipped his helmet at Emily and kept walking. He was soon out of sight.

Emily didn't miss a beat. She rushed to the door, flung it open, and hurried inside; her heart pounded the whole way.

John sat on the couch, staring curiously into the folds of a letter. He glanced up at Emily as she entered, his brow furrowing appropriately at her dynamic entrance.

Emily's breath caught. The back of the letter bore that same Valmese seal.

"No," she whispered breathlessly. "N-No…"

She ran over to John, swatted the letter out of his hands, and crudely embraced him, crying into his shoulder.

 _"No!_ D-Don't go, Father! You can't! You _can't!_ It can't be just me! I won't be able—I can't—"

"Emily!"

John took her firmly by the shoulders, pried her off of him, and placed her in a sitting position next to him. He then leaned forward, still winded from the accidental blow she had inflicted on his diaphragm, and placed his arms on his knees. He plucked the letter from the ground and presented it to Emily. "Here," he said. "Stop worrying."

Emily tried to read the letter, but the words were jumbled together and her vision was impaired by the tears in her eyes. "I… I can't…"

John sighed and gently took the letter back. "It basically says I _can't_ be drafted," he said. "It's the leg. I'm not of able body, apparently." He chuckled. "I could probably throw around most of those other recruits, but I ain't complaining. Anyway, the letter's pretty hilarious. All, 'you have been denied the privilege of serving' and stuff. Like I care!"

Emily nervously giggled, in spite of herself. She tried wiping her eyes.

"You've had a rough day, dear." He helped her up. "Let's get you to bed. I'll grab you some handkerchiefs."

She nodded, accepting his comfort while rubbing her eyes like a child.

* * *

That night, she slept heavily. She was even too tired to write in her journal before going to bed.

No dreams.

* * *

 _June 9th_

John carefully opened the door, uncertain of what he would find in Emily's bed. Anger? Fear? Naga forbid, self-abuse? What he did not doubt, however, was that there would be tears.

He was wrong.

She sat cross-legged in her bed, her pencil tucked behind her ear, a tuft of hair curling around it. Her green eyes were focused intently on the journal in her lap; she chewed on her thumbnail thoughtfully as she examined the text before her.

John frowned suspiciously. "Emily…?"

Noticing his presence, she looked up at him and broke into her characteristic warm smile. "Good morning, Father!" Behind her eyes was an enthusiastic twinkle that meant she had an idea.

"Good morning," he said warily. He knew Emily too well to mince words by playing along, so: "What's with the attitude?"

She raised a pointer finger. "I've figured out how to make things work. With me and Jeremiah, I mean."

John's eyes narrowed. "You aren't going to try to go _with_ him, are you? He already left."

"I know!" Emily said, her smile faltering. "I know he did. But I've thought of a way I could go with him without being a financial burden." She perused her notes in the journal. Without looking up, she inquired, "Father, I've become quite good at healing. I've successfully used even my Recover before. And I remember something you and Merc told me last October, when we first found out my talent. You said, 'healing is a very important skill,' and Merc talked about some work injuries that could have been avoided with the help of a healer."

John's features began to curl downward into a scowl. He did not like where she was going with this.

Emily lowered her journal and beamed up at John. "So I've decided that I am going to enlist alongside Jer. I may not exactly be able-bodied, but I already know how to heal, so there's no way they could turn me down."

"No!" John said immediately. His hands were clenched into fists. "Absolutely not. I will not consider it."

Emily expected this response, so she resumed. "But! A battlefield is where a healer is most needed. Think of the lives I could save! The families who wouldn't have to lose their loved ones! I could really make a difference if I joined the army."

"What did I just say?!" John snapped. "I _will not_ consider it! You are not going to enlist, Emily. End of discussion."

He whirled away and departed for the kitchen.

Emily threw her covers off, grasped her journal, and followed him, her expression becoming more distraught. "But Father! This is my _purpose!_ To heal, it's—it's a part of me!" She pressed her palms against her heart, pleading. "This is what I am meant to do!"

"No!"

John turned around, towering over her. She immediately recoiled, intimidated, but quickly regained her composure. "Why not?!" she snapped.

"Because I said so!" John shouted. "I am your father, Emily, and you will _listen_ to me!"

 _'You are not my father!'_ was the first thought to cross Emily's mind, but she felt the words too cruel to speak—and they felt untrue regardless. "I want to be with Jer! I love him! This is the only way that we can be together!" She put her foot down. "I'm a twenty… something… year old woman, Father! You cannot stop me!" She kicked herself for tripping over her words, and hoped it did not diminish her point.

"You don't understand what a healer is!" John said. "A healer is not simply this altruist with the power to save lives. No, a healer is a _weapon._ " His eyes were laced with anger and concern. "Emily… Calm down, and let me explain."

Emily didn't realize how rapid her breathing was, and took efforts to compose herself. She nodded at John: a gesture to continue.

John began to explain. "Before the advent of powerful healing staves—thousands of years before even the Hero-King's time—there was a rule of war. 'Don't kill the medic.' Healers would use slow-acting healing salves and simple crutches and bandages to heal wounds, so an injured soldier would likely return to the battlefield within a few weeks, maybe even months. The purpose of a healer was, indeed, simply to spare the lives of dying people. Therefore, it was a war crime to kill someone with intentions so pure.

"However, that changed with the introduction of modern healing staves. In a matter of seconds, a healer could renew an anything-short-of-mortally wounded soldier to fighting shape. This meant that healers would now reside on the front lines, able to heal soldiers just as soon as they suffer an injury. Wars would become those of attrition: the only way to win would be to wait for the enemy to run out of staves, and then the actual combat could ensue. Fighting alongside a healer was standard, as they could prolong the fighting ability of an entire unit. So with this, the old rule of 'don't kill the medic' came to an end. In fact, it was inverted: the tactically sound decision became 'kill the medic first.' Ask any tactician: in a situation where enemy healers are involved, it is always prudent to eliminate them first before moving on to the rest of the opposing force." John crossed his arms. "A cleric is the most dangerous weapon on the battlefield, Emily. Your life is in incredible danger if you join the army: and imagine if Valm learns of your ability to use tomes?"

John sighed, long and deep and thoughtful. "You want to be with Jer, but I want to be with my daughter. And if you go out there," he pointed at the door, "then you will die. I will be robbed of you, and so will Jer, and so will everyone else who loves you." He took a step closer to Emily and slightly widened his arms, inviting her into a hug. "Please, Emily, if you ever listen to me, let this be that time."

Emily was still numbly processing his words. Bags seemed to grow under her eyes as the seconds went by, and soon, she found herself in John's arms, sobbing without restraint.

John ran his fingers through her hair comfortingly. _This_ was the reaction he had expected before, and it felt terrible to finally be proven right.

* * *

Over the course of the next month, friend after friend disappeared, until finally, the last of Merc's crew—Merc himself—was recruited by the Valmese Army. Likely still in the business of repairing warships, but no longer in the Harbor.

Emily could never bring herself to visit that sandwich shop again. Every place she and Jer had visited, she could no longer bear the sight of.

The Recover Staff lay hidden in John's closet, gathering dust. Valmese soldiers roamed the streets, and Emily could no longer afford to practice staff work; they would draft her in an instant if they learned of her skill.

The only constant was John.

Times were tough.

Times were about to become tougher.

* * *

 _July 14th_

"Heyyyy! John, my boy!" The Valmese soldier gestured at Emily, a dark leer joining his grin. "Who's the lass?"

John blinked, surprised. He slowly smiled back and shook the soldier's hand. "Sirus? Is that you?"

"You bet, brotha!" the man said proudly. "How long's it been? Five years? Ten?"

"Maybe," John said. "What brings you here?"

Sirus grinned. "I'm in the army now! I know I always told you back when we worked for Merc that I'd enlist, and you never believed me, but here I am!" He gestured widely, encompassing the four soldiers behind him. "I'm a corporal in the Valmese Army! This is my squad! Say hey, boys."

The boys said "Hey."

"That's great," said John. "Well, it's good to see you, but we were about to make dinner, so…"

"Oh, oh man, I'm sorry," Sirus said, shaking his head with an embarrassed chuckle. "I didn't mean to beat around the bush like that. We're actually being quartered in your home."

John paled. "What?"

 _"Quartered,"_ Sirus said slowly, mockingly. Whether this was playful friend-mocking or antagonistic mocking, Emily could not tell. "We're gonna be staying in your home for the next week or so."

"Wh…" John murmured. From his expression, Emily gathered that this was a bad thing.

Sirus rubbed his hands together. "So, you mentioned dinner?"

* * *

Emily and John were very quiet. John had made a point of sitting next to Emily and leaving the seat on her other side free. Meanwhile, Sirus chatted away, his spoon always hovering over his soup; the other four Valmese listened intently, chuckling at his jokes and nodding at his many jingoistic notions.

"Yeah, we're, like, shipping out in waves," he said. "Oh! That accidental pun. 'Waves.' Heheh. Anyway, the first wave already left, taking most of the fleet with them, and we'll be joining them when the next batch of ships arrives. Gonna go over to the east continent and crush 'em, or uh, unify them I mean, just like we did with Valm." He shook his head. "Man, you should've been there at training with me, John. The Emperor was actually there one day, making a speech! You should've just heard him talk. It would just all make sense." He gestured at himself with his fork. "We're the chosen ones, man! The Valmese! Walhart's gonna unite the entire world, and then there'll be peace, like… forever! Once those insects to the east stop squirming under his boot—especially Ylisse, they've been givin' us the most trouble—the whole world will be… like… one. One big country. Could you imagine it?"

John wore an amicable smile as he halted his spoon for just a moment. "Sounds like just warmongering to me, Sirus. And I hear about his strong-over-weak mentality; sounds a little Ashnardian, I think."

"Yeah, yeah, but like, what if Ashnard had it right, you know?" Sirus said. "I mean—sure, he's a bad guy in all those stories, but his whole idea about the strong trampling the weak, it just makes sense. It's natural."

"The lives of the weak aren't forfeit because of circumstances outside their control," John said. "Look at me. Crippled leg; can't fight in a war. Granted, I could probably kick your butt anyway…"

The five soldiers all laughed, appreciative of the jab.

"Man," Sirus said, "I'm just telling it wrong. If you heard Walhart say it, you'd understand, for sure." The other four bobbed their heads in agreement.

John shrugged. "Maybe. Anyway, how have you been, outside of army stuff?"

"Pretty good, pretty good," Sirus nodded. He suddenly smirked. "But not as good as you! You never answered me, John—who's the girl?"

John smiled, putting an arm around Emily. "This is Emily," he said proudly. "My daughter."

The other four just nodded along, but Sirus spit out his soup in surprise and began to laugh. "Hahaha! Since when did you have a twenty-something-year-old-daughter?! I've known you for _way_ too long to not know about her."

"I'm a private person," John said simply.

"Naw," Sirus said, shaking his head quickly, "naw, she's not your daughter. What is she, adopted?"

John sighed. "Yes, she is."

"BAHAHAHA!" Sirus smacked the table in his laughter. Emily and John both watched him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, and smiled a little in spite of themselves. The other four chuckled along despite not getting the joke.

Sirus's laughter slowed down, and he wiped his mouth of spittle as he continued, still grinning. "So you found yourself a daughter, huh? I remember you were a family man, whatever that meant. I remember Lyra."

John noticeably stiffened.

"So you found yourself a replacement, did ya?" Sirus asked, gesturing at Emily. "So, you two do it?"

Though the meaning of the words escaped Emily—even now, she would often find gaps in her vocabulary every now and then—the others understood full well, and even Sirus's squad made defensive exclamations about the inappropriateness of Sirus's statement.

"Wha—Hey, hey!" Sirus exclaimed, putting his hands up against the verbal onslaught from all directions. "I was just askin'!"

John's knuckles were clenched white. "Sirus, that's disgusting."

"Tch. Man, I don't get you," Sirus said. "You got yourself a hot young girl, not even related to you if that matters, and you take her as your daughter instead of your wife? Wasted opportunity, I'd say."

"W-Wife?!" Emily exclaimed, surprised. How vile! John? No!

Sirus shrugged, took a long drag from his glass of water, and before setting it down, he said, "Hell, if I had a daughter or sister, I wouldn't waste my time. Get while the gettin's good, I say."

"Ah, that's just what people think when they don't got no siblings," one of the soldiers said. "It's diff'rnt when you got family. I tell you, I've got eight sisters, and I ain't attracted to a one of them."

"That's 'cause they're all ugly as hell, just like you!" Sirus said loudly, and the five soldiers erupted into laughter.

Emily winced at Sirus's mild profanity. She glanced aside at John, who seemed just as uncomfortable as her, though his uncomfortableness seemed to result in rage rather than shyness.

"Father," Emily said softly, "I'm feeling ill. I'd like to turn in for the night, if you don't mind."

"Of course," John said. "You'll be staying in my room. I'll help you move your things."

* * *

John extracted the mattress from her bed and started to gather sheets while Emily began to carry each of her hangers, folding each piece of clothing over her arm one by one.

"Sirus will be staying in here, and the other four will be in the living room, on the couch and chairs and floor," John explained. "You'll be staying in my room until they're gone."

"Okay," Emily said. She briefly hesitated, then resumed gathering her clothes. "Um… H-How do you know Sirus?"

John huffed. "He and I worked with Merc for a couple of years. We were never that close as friends, but for some reason he still asked his lieutenant if he could stay with me. I bet he thought we were closer than we actually were; he's pretty lacking in social skills."

"I could tell," Emily chuckled. "What a disgusting thing he said…"

"Indeed," said John gravely. "He was an orphan, so he doesn't really understand 'family.' I suspect that's also why he worships Walhart the Conqueror so much; he's like a father figure to Sirus, I'd imagine."

"That doesn't explain his companions' similar devotion."

John shrugged, conceding the point. "I know little about these political affairs. Perhaps Walhart is as charismatic as Sirus says. Or maybe they just play along; for all we know, they were drafted."

Emily thought of Jeremiah. Had he heard Walhart speak? Was he brainwashed, too?

She squeezed her eyes shut. She had worked far too hard and for far too long to overcome that sadness; she would not have it engulf her again.

"Anyway," John said, "we should set up your sleeping arrangements. Just keep in mind that they're here temporarily; make the best of it, okay? Sirus isn't all bad. I trust him as far as I can throw him, but as long as you keep him at arm's length, make friendly. Please?"

Emily nodded. "I like to think that friendliness is one of my strong points, Father," she said, grinning.

"Haha! Right, right."

* * *

 _July 15th_

Emily jumped, startled, at the sudden pinch on her leg. She yelped in pain and surprise.

Sirus bellowed with laughter, leaning back in his chair at the table. "Gods, you're a beauty, Emily!" He turned to his squad sitting around the table. "Did you hear that? That was the sexiest scream I've ever heard!"

Sirus had no time to react to the dough roller swinging down onto his wrist. He recoiled, grabbing the wound and glaring up at his attacker. "Agh! Ow! Wh-What the hell, John?"

"Language!" Another swat from the roller onto Sirus's shoulder. "Yeah, I've still got those anger issues, and I'm _more_ than happy to take them out on you if you step out of line! I suppose I should probably lay down some ground rules, though Naga knows how obvious this one is." John pointed at Emily, who still looked rustled from Sirus's unwarranted grab. "My daughter is off limits. I don't want touching, I don't want romantic advances, I don't even want friendly flirting. If you speak to my daughter, you speak to her like you would to anyone else. I swear to Naga I'll kill you. Got it?"

He stared directly into Sirus's insolent eyes, asserting his dominance. Sirus averted his eyes, nodding, and John grunted in satisfaction.

The rest of the day was fairly thoroughly uneventful. Under John's watchful eye, Sirus showed forced respect to Emily, and the other four followed suit.

However, Emily saw the dark glances Sirus would throw at John behind his back, and the shared looks between him and his crew.

She hoped John hadn't made an enemy.

* * *

The house was much quieter for now. The five soldiers were out drilling, leaving Emily and John alone in their home.

Emily's thoughts wandered as she washed the dishes. Something Sirus had mentioned the previous day nagged at her, and now was the time to voice those concerns.

She set the plate in the sink, dried her hands, and slowly approached John, who sat in his chair, reading the newspaper.

"Father," Emily stated, sitting on the couch, "um… could we speak?"

John glanced over his newspaper at her, and then he folded the paper and set it aside. "Course. What's up, Em?"

Emily took a breath. This conversation was a long, long time coming; more than a year ago, Jer had planted this concern in her mind, and now, armed with a name, she could finally pose the question she had always wondered since she had met her father for the first time.

"Who, erm… Who is Lyra?"

John froze. For a moment, he was silent. "Lyra… Lyra…"

Emily anxiously folded her hands in her lap, awaiting his explanation.

"Lyra… more than ten years ago… she was my wife." He glanced up at her, expecting a reaction—but Emily had assumed as much. The mysterious ex-wife, finally given a name. "Gods, this was an eternity ago… We met in my early twenties, and were married before I was twenty-five. She was beautiful, and smart, and kind. Was blonde, like you… Was a healer, like you. Girl of my dreams."

A heavy weight grew in Emily's heart. "…But she left…"

"Thirteen years ago," John continued, "we decided, enough was enough, we'd been married for four years, and neither of us were getting any younger: it was time to have children."

Emily remembered Jer's recounting of the tale. "But Lyra didn't agree?"

John blinked. "What? Yes, of course she did. She proposed the idea, in fact."

Emily frowned. So Jer had been wrong.

She suddenly noticed something. John's eyes… that distant glaze on them…She recognized that look from an eternity ago. _'If I'd ever had a daughter'…_ Oh, gods…

"She was pregnant," John said absently. "We learned later… the baby… the baby was a girl. Real family… for me." He shook his head, unblinking, staring at nothing. "We decided on her name before she was born… We named her… named her… Emily."

Emily.

When the Letter Killer threw her overboard, she had been shocked.

When John was injured, she had been shocked.

When Jer left, she had been shocked.

This was something else. Something… vastly more horrific.

Emily's eyes were blank, no life to be found within.

 _Emily. The REAL Emily._

She stared down at her hands.

 _A crude facsimile… a replacement for the original… That's all I am._

Emily. That was her, wasn't it? Wasn't Emily her name? Didn't her identity have value? Or was she as disposable as her previous names?

There was no alcohol to save her this time.

It was true. Her identity was as meaningless as the others she had discarded.

She was not Emily. Emily was John's _true_ daughter.

John took a long, deep, agonized breath. It was so substantially different from his usual sigh that it pulled Emily's attention. "I was there… holding Lyra's hand. And Emily, my child… I held her, for a few brief moments." He shook his head slowly. "But my daughter was gone… And she took her mother with her. There was nothing anyone could do…"

A long, silent pause. She didn't dare speak.

"The house was so empty," John murmured. "Empty…"

Empty…

Emily…

She understood why. Why John had named her this way. A replacement, for such a great loss. She could not fault him for this mistake of his, and she would not discard the identity he had so generously given her.

But she could not forget.

The rest of the day was silent.

* * *

 _July 16th_

"John, the water isn't running."

John frowned. "What?" He stood from his chair and followed Sirus over to the sink. He tried the handle a number of times. "Hm." He ducked under the sink, all eyes now curiously following him. "Yep. This part's broken. Must've gotten fragile from rust, and somebody kicked it or something."

Sirus rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah… Sorry about that."

John rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. "Ah, no big deal. I'll just run down to the store and grab a replacement; shouldn't take longer than twenty minutes."

"Well, let one of my guys buy it for you," Sirus said. He pointed at two of them. "Soldiers get a discount. Least I could do, since I'm the one who broke it."

"Oh!" said John, surprised. "I didn't know about the discount." He grinned, patting Sirus on the shoulder. "Thanks."

"No problem," Sirus said, grinning back. "Glad to help."

"Be right back, Emily," John called, waving at her. "Looking good today, by the way."

She looked up from her book and forced a smile for him. She reflexively smoothed out her white dress. "Bye," she said. "I'll keep the couch warm."

Chuckles all around, and then John left with two of the soldiers in tow.

Sirus returned to the living room, where Emily and the other two soldiers sat; after a moment, Sirus moved to John's chair.

Sirus sat down, letting out a long exhale. "This chair _is_ comfortable," he noted. "Maybe _I_ should've slept in it the last couple nights." He laughed, catching Emily's eye. "Right?"

She smiled pleasantly, nodding, before returning to her book.

For a minute, there was silence. Sirus tapped his fingers on the chair arm impatiently, one soldier stared off into space, and the other pretended he knew how to read the book in his hands.

Finally, Sirus broke the silence. "Welp!" He stood up. "I think that's about long enough." He nodded at his other two soldiers, and they stood as well, following him.

Emily frowned as she watched them walk to the back of the house. "Where are you going?"

Sirus glanced over his shoulder. "Hm?" He grinned. "Just gonna check out John's room. Haven't seen it yet." He gestured with his thumb. "Mind showing me around?"

Emily blinked, nonplussed, but closed her book and stood anyway. "Okay, I guess. There isn't much to see, though, it's just a room." She would probably have to divert them away from the hidden Recover staff anyway, so it was best that she gave them the tour.

"I'm really into architecture, though," Sirus said. "So, yeah, the layout of the room is pretty interesting to me."

Emily thought, for a moment, that she had heard sarcasm in his tone, but she disregarded the notion. Why would he lie about something so trivial, anyway? "Oh! Well, I'm no architecture buff, but I could help you." She felt some excitement run through her as she approached Sirus. A chance to be needed for a while, plus a friendship moment with Sirus? A win-win.

Sirus held the door for Emily, allowing her to enter. She stood in the middle of the room, looking around for something to talk about.

Sirus waved both of his soldiers off. Had Emily been listening closely, she would have heard, "Guard the front door."

Emily turned around, smiling. "Well—"

Her smile died as she saw the look in Sirus's eyes. The downward-pointed chin, with the malefic eyes glaring up at her, and the wide, sadistic grin… What _was_ this?

"The strong dominate the weak," he hissed. "This'll show John for humiliating me… I'm gonna enjoy this."

Sirus charged at her, and she was suddenly reminded of Letter Killer, and a powerful sense of primal fear overwhelmed her, and she barely had time to bring up her hands to defend herself before he tackled her onto the bed.

She frantically tried shoving him off as she began to panic in surprise and confusion. Her breathing was rapid, and his was right in her ear, that hissing, offensive breath—

"G-Get… Get—off!" Emily sputtered, giving Sirus another shove. Sirus growled in irritation, and released her with one hand.

The hand returned in the form of a fist, colliding with Emily's cheek and stunning her.

Emily's ears rang as the pain in her cheek grew. She tasted blood. _Why? Why?_ "Agh!" She felt pressure of his hand on her leg. "St-Stop it!"

Sirus began to laugh maniacally. "Gods, you're so beautiful! So untouchable, so sacred! The white you wear… it just perfects it!" He bent down, sinking his teeth into Emily's shoulder.

She cried out in pain. "It h-hurts! Stop!"

"HmhmhmhmhahaHAHAHAHA! _So delightful!_ So this is what a daughter tastes like? Well," he dragged his lips across her shoulder, up her neck, and finally ending at her ear, "let's have you make one of those for me, why don't we?"

Her eyes widened as the implications of his actions finally hit her. "N-No… No, no…. Please…"

"Sorry, but 'no' is out of the question," Sirus sneered. "If I wanted 'no,' I wouldn't have sent my men to kill John!" He dove down again, and Emily felt his hands on her dress, and his mouth on her neck, and oh gods, this still hurt… And fighting, fighting… it did nothing…

Sirus's mouth pried off of her neck. "T-Taking too long!" he stammered breathlessly, excitedly, and he moved upward to press his lips against Emily's.

"Mmph!" She struggled harder than before, anything to get that mouth away from hers. But he held her in place with his hands, gripping her shoulders. No, that wasn't all they did… they were fumbling with the straps of her dress, trying to…

Oh, gods, this could not be happening.

Sirus finally pulled away from her, his dark grin returning. "Pray to the gods for help," he hissed. "Pray to Naga! _Do it!_ I want to hear you call Naga's name!"

Emily was shaking with tears, wishing she was not so damn fragile, wishing she could be stronger, wishing for… anything but this. Even the pirates never…

 _'Don't take advantage of Lass, you hear?'_

Oh, gods! This was what Dobus had meant!

This was the lowest form of humanity, right before her! This man with no morals, this man who would… who would do such a thing!

"Well?!" Sirus snapped, irritated that Emily refused to satisfy this whim. "Say the words! Pray! I want to hear them fall flat before your gods' deaf ears!"

Emily choked back a sob, pursing her lips tightly in silent refusal.

"Fine!" Sirus bellowed, and began to wrestle with the dress more intently. "You'll be praying before we are done, for sure!"

She shivered with terror and closed her eyes tightly. _No matter what he does, he will hear no words from me. I'll not make a sound for him. Naga, if you can hear me… please ensure my silence._

Sirus's irritated expression morphed into a satisfied one, and though Emily refused to look down, she could feel his hands stop moving, having apparently found purchase.

"Ready for the main—" he began, before suddenly stopping.

There was a wet, slipping sound, and something splattering across her dress. She flinched, fighting back a terrified whimper.

Emily slowly opened an eye, and gasped in horror at the sight: a narrow blade sticking out of Sirus, hovering hardly an inch before her nose.

Sirus wheezed for air, staring numbly down at the red-stained blade. Blood spatters tainted Emily's white dress.

For a moment, all was still except Emily's chest, heaving with panicked breaths.

Then, the blade slickly retreated from Sirus's diaphragm, and he fell sideways off of the bed.

Emily's hands covered her mouth as tears streamed from her eyes. "J-John," she whispered.

John did not face her, still looking down at Sirus, who lay in a gasping heap next to the bed.

"I told you I would kill you," John said impassively.

Sirus coughed blood onto the carpet, wearing a shaky grin the whole time. "Y-You son of a bitch," he panted. "You j-just killed a servant of the C-Conqueror… You're gonna die, John. Heheheh… You're gonna d-die…"

John knelt down, wiping his weapon on Sirus's shirt. "I never did lose this," he said quietly, showing Sirus the weapon. "I always keep my carving knife on me. Now you know why."

"Heheh… Heheheheh… That's…. pretty good," Sirus rasped, giggling manically as blood dripped from his nose and lips. "P-Pretty… good… heheh…"

Sirus's head lolled to the side, eyes still open, as his chest gradually stopped moving.

John stood quickly and took Emily's hand. "We have to—"

Emily interrupted him by leaping to her feet and into John's arms, bursting into terror-filled tears.

John's sympathy knew no bounds, and he wished he could kill Sirus a dozen times more for what he did, but they hadn't the time. "Emily. We have to leave. Grab your bag."

Emily obeyed, immediately rushing into the living room. She hesitated, covering her mouth, at the sight of the two butchered Valmese soldiers next to the door; but then she did as she was told and looped her satchel over her shoulder. After a moment, John followed her into the living room, carrying the blanket-masked Recover staff under his arm.

"Emily," John said calmly. He reached for her, taking her by the shoulder. "You're going to have to listen to me very closely for the next few minutes, okay? We are on the run now. Three Valmese soldiers are dead because of me, and regardless of their actions, I—and you by extension—will be held responsible. Those last two will be after us." He noticed one of the straps on her dress was undone, so he redid it as he spoke. "The only thing we can do is flee, and that means you have to do everything I say. Promise?"

"P-Promise," she stammered, nodding. That item under his arm, though, was large and easy to spot. "B-But the Recover staff… Can't we come back for it…?"

"Emily." His voice was stern. "We aren't coming back. We never can."

Emily's breathing quickened. Oh gods, oh gods…

John nodded, forcing a smile. "Don't worry, dear," he said, running a hand through her hair. "You'll be just fine. I guarantee it."

She smiled tearfully, resting her cheek on his hand for a moment.

He leaned in close, brushing aside her bangs to kiss her forehead; but he hesitated, his face hovering inches from Emily's. "What in the…"

Emily frowned, confused. "What's wrong…?"

John brushed her bangs back down, his hand fell, and it was back to reality: all smiles disappeared. "…N-Nothing. Let's go."

* * *

Everything was hell as soon as they stepped outside. Villagers ran this way and that; several soldiers rushed past John and Emily without even acknowledging them.

"What's going on?" Emily said, watching the panic unfold; John hastily pulled her along by the wrist, moving quickly in spite of his limp.

"It's something at the pier," John said, constantly looking over each shoulder as he walked. "I heard someone mention a resistance faction. Anti-Walhart, I assume."

"So… friends?" Emily asked hopefully.

John frowned. "Gods, I hope so. That's our best option right now."

Emily's face fell anxiously.

Valm Harbor was a blur of sounds, motion, and noise as they hurried along toward the pier at the fastest pace they could manage short of running. Emily's thoughts were muddled, but she still felt in control; she repressed thoughts of Sirus for now. That could come later.

"This way." John led her into a side alley to avoid a large group of Walhart's men. "Not much farther."

 _"HALT!"_

Emily flinched at the sound. Memories of last October rushed to her, at those men chasing her, at John's injuries…

John looked over his shoulder. It was the last of Sirus's soldiers, both wielding lances. John didn't have the drop on them this time.

John grimaced, released Emily's wrist, shoved the Recover staff into her arms, and reached into his pockets, drawing his carving knife. "Emily, run," he commanded.

"Wh-What?"

He gave her a sharp look. "You promised." He winked. "I'll meet you at the pier later, okay?"

Emily stared into his confident eyes, a look of worried fear in her own. Suddenly, all doubts she had had about him diminished; her insecurities about Lyra, and about the real Emily, were gone, if just for a moment.

"I'll be waiting," she said, for the second time. "I love you, Father."

He smiled warmly. "I love you too, Emily. More than you could ever know." He placed his hand on her cheek. "Now… Run, as fast as you can, to the pier. The resistance will help you."

Emily nodded, wiping away tears. Without another moment's hesitation, she obeyed her father's command. She ran.

John watched her go for a second, before turning back to the two soldiers. He let out a long, deep sigh. _If there's ever a time or place for it, it's now._ "All right, you sons of bitches," he growled. "Who's first?"

* * *

Emily was running, and crying, and unable to think but for the direction she ran.

She knew. John was a strong man, but he could not take on two lance-wielding soldiers.

Her father was dead.

And those soldiers would never pay for what they had done. Sirus would be remembered as a soldier of the kingdom, slain by peasants, not as the… the monster he truly was.

She shook her head, wiping her tears on the Recover staff's wrappings, as she continued to run. She could not think about that now! She had to find her way to this resistance group—her only chance of escaping the Conqueror's tyranny…

"HALT!"

Emily slid to a stop, her breath growing more rapid. Two soldiers in front; two more in back. Surrounded, and nowhere to run.

She looked down at herself. Blood-spattered… carrying a large, unknown object… panicked… She was the embodiment of suspicious.

The soldiers closed in, weapons at the ready. "Drop the thing!" one ordered.

Emily's hands were clenched around the staff, and her thoughts were too muddled with fear to hear the command. Every part of her wanted to flee, but she was frozen.

"Prolly another one of Say'ri's goons," another soldier said gruffly. "Let's put 'er down, Corporal."

"Yeah, I think so too," the corporal of the squad said, nodding. "We'd best inflate our kill count anyway. We're falling behind the power curve."

"You got it. I'll do the honors."

One of the soldiers stepped closer, lance at the ready. Emily squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the Recover staff to her breast.

Then, a voice from behind Emily: "Oy! Look over there!"

The soldiers all hesitated, following the voice. Emily refused to open her eyes, but she heard the rest of the encounter:

"Hey! Who are you people? You're interfering with—Nngh!"

A metallic _slam._

"Wh—Rebels! Kill 'em, boys!"

Metal clanging, loud grunts and clashes; within moments, silence.

Two hands took Emily by the shoulders, and she yelped in fear, opening her eyes.

"Hey! Calm down! Let's go, alright? Hurry now!"

And now, Emily was walking as fast as her feet could take, with other footsteps behind and a few more people in front, and a strong shoulder guiding the way.

Wait—the _wrong_ way.

Emily started to become conscious of her surroundings. She was in a dark alley, surrounded by—

She shook the arm off of her. "W-Wait, wait!" she said, trying to gain her bearings. "This isn't… This…"

Her saviors all stopped. "Hey," one of them said, in a familiar voice, "you should at least be grateful. We saved yer life, Lass."

Emily squinted at the speaker. "What…? Tank…!" She looked around. "Nina…? Barty… Mustache man…!"

The Mighty Mustache scratched his head, mouthing 'Mustache man…?' The others grinned at Emily.

"Welcome back, Lass," Nina said, beaming from ear to ear. "It's been a while, huh? We've gotcha. You're safe now. But you've gotta follow us—we're ditching the Harbor."

Emily blinked. "B-But the… resistance faction…!"

"The resistance's gone to hell," Barty said gruffly. "Almost all of Say'ri's party, killed, and Say'ri herself was cornered last I saw 'er."

Emily was breathless. Her hopes, her _father's_ hopes, gone?

"So yeah, we're outta here," said Mustache Man. "We're as dead as her if we keep helpin' the resistance. We're settin' sail for Ylisse, and ain't turnin' back 'til things calm down."

Emily had already confronted the thought of John being dead, but this was only the nail in the coffin. If she left Valm with these pirates, she would certainly never see John again.

But what was her alternative?

"Guys, this reunion is great and all, but we've _really_ gotta go," Nina urged. "Lass, come on! I promise, this is for your well-being." She jogged over and grasped Emily's wrist, which still firmly clutched the staff. "Trust me!"

Emily looked into Nina's eyes. "O-Okay," she said softly. "Okay…"

Nina grinned, and then faced the others. "All right, boys, to the ship!"

And they ran.


	4. Part IV

**IV**

* * *

 _July 16_ _th_ _(cont.)_

The ship hadn't changed much since March of the previous year. It seemed much smaller than Emily remembered, though she attributed that to the much larger ships she had seen in the harbor since then.

She and the other pirates slowed as they reached the ship, even the more athletic among them panting for breath. Emily was thoroughly winded and speechless, and had no words to say to Captain Dobus as he approached.

"Sweet Naga, is that Lass?!" Dobus exclaimed, a grin growing on his face. "Gods damn!"

He turned around to his cohort—a redheaded woman Emily had never met, and looked far too well-kept to be one of Dobus's pirates—and said, "Hey! This is an old friend of mine. Say hey!"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Dobus, wouldja stop being so silly? I'm here for my gold."

"Oh, whatever, you'll get it," Dobus said, scowling at her. He then turned to Emily, and beamed. "I'm just excited! What a reunion!"

The redhead shrugged and offered her hand to Emily, grinning. "Nice to meetcha. Name's Anna. I'm a merchant."

Emily was still overcome with surprise, but shifted the weight of the staff into one hand and shook Anna's with the other. "Em-Emily," she said softly.

"Emily?" Anna's eyes narrowed. "Hmm… Say, do you have a sister?"

Emily's eyebrows furrowed. "Um… I don't… believe so?"

Anna waved it away. "Ah, whatever, doesn't matter. Maybe you know one of _my_ sisters, I dunno. Anyway: Dobus. Gold? Yay or nay? 'Nay' means a hitman on your trail, bee-tee-doubleyoo."

Dobus raised a finger. "Aight, aight, but I've got one more job for you, an' that's all, okay?"

"Money talks," Anna said simply.

"It will, it will." Dobus gestured at the city beyond. "Spread the word that Lass here—or, uh, Emily, I guess? Let everyone know that she's dead, and we're square."

"Sounds good to me," said Anna cheerfully. "Double the rate, and we're good."

"Double?! This ain't as complicated as all that resistance stuff!"

Anna's grin was mischievous. "Do you really have the time to haggle?"

"Bah!" Dobus produced two pouches of bullion from his pockets. "Fine, you money-grubbing…"

"I told you insults cost extra," Anna teased. "Anyway, see you guys around maybe but probably not!" She saluted. "Nice to meet you, Emily! Rest in peace!"

And the red-haired thief was gone.

Dobus faced Emily. "I ain't _really_ gonna kill you," he said with a grin. "But if everyone thinks you're dead, no one'll hunt after you. You're a free woman!"

Emily blinked.

"That's enough dallying," Nina said cheerfully. Everyone's mood was so high; Emily could not understand it. "Let's get going."

* * *

Immediately upon boarding the ship, the others scattered, making ready to set sail. Emily stood above decks, watching the bustle, still making sense of everything.

Her thoughts were muddled from all the action, and even now she found it hard to take a breather. Once the ship set sail, she would have time to set her thoughts straight.

She realized her arms were beginning to ache from carrying this large item, so she resolved to go below decks and find a place to store it. She still remembered where the stairs to below were, so she headed for them.

She had arrived at the top of the stairs when she heard an indignant "No!"

Emily looked around the deck, searching for the voice.

She soon found it, and froze with fear.

Letter Killer stood there, his mouth agape, his hands limp. His eyes held the same hatred that had haunted her nightmares for the last year and a half.

"How in the hell are you…?" began LK. "I thought I…"

"Thought you _what,_ Luthier?"

Nina stepped into the conversation, scowling. Tank and Barty, similarly glowering, stood on either side of her.

"I, uh," Luthier stammered. His eyes were wide. "I… Okay! Fine!" He threw his hands up. "It was me! _I_ threw her overboard last year, but she attacked me first, okay?! She deserved it!"

"Yeah, and I'm the Conqueror," Barty scoffed.

He pointed at himself. "You know me! I ain't a bad guy! I've been Dobus's friend for years, aight? She was the intruder on the family!"

"So that's what it was about," Nina said, shaking her head disdainfully. "I knew you'd done it, but I never knew why. You were just jealous."

"Whoa, hey, now you're making it sound weird," Luthier said, laughing nervously.

"I would never," Nina snarked. "Anyway, you know the punishment for attacking a crewmate."

"Crewmate?!" Now Luthier seemed angry. "She ain't a crewmate! She wasn't then, and she ain't now! She's an outsider!"

"I respectfully disagree."

Dobus appeared from behind Luthier. He wore an ominous glower. "I was gonna marry her back then. She was absolutely part of our crew, and you threw her into the ocean?" He shook his head, disappointment in his eyes. "Here I thought no pirate under Captain Dobus would stoop so low."

"Wha—Cap'n," Luthier said, trying for a friendly tone, "you know me, right? It's not important anymore, right? That was, like, a year ago! Y'know? Heheh! Right? We're friends! Right, Lass?"

Luthier extended a hand to Emily; she flinched away reflexively.

"Answer enough fer me," said Tank with finality, and he approached Luthier. "Off you go."

"What?! No! _No!_ I'm a good guy! I am!"

Tank lifted the scrawny Luthier by the shoulders. "You ain't welcome with the Dobus Pirates anymore, y'hear? Have fun in Valm."

"No! No, I'm beggin ya, please, it's chaos, they'll kill me out there!" He turned to Emily as Tank started carrying him away. "Lass! Lass, help me! You forgive me, right? You forgive me?"

Emily was still frozen to the spot, a fear growing deep in her gut. This was Letter Killer, the man who had destroyed her hope of finding home in Plegia, the man who had forced her away from all human contact for a month, the man who had tried to murder her out of jealousy, and the man she compared all evil to for a long time.

Until today.

Emily stepped forward, opening her mouth slightly. She finally spoke: "W-Wait!"

Tank hesitated, surprised, and all other eyes turned to Emily.

"M-My name… is Emily," she said, and slowly smiled. "I… I do… I forgive you, Luthier."

The others were all stunned; none more so than Luthier.

Emily placed her staff on the floor, and she walked closer to Tank and Luthier.

Luthier had been acting with the intent of preserving his family, if in a misguided way. Emily had seen true evil today—had experienced it firsthand—which had now taught her of Luthier's innocence.

She offered her hand, smiling warmly. "I do." She placed her other hand on Tank's arm. "I forgive you."

Slowly, very slowly, and while glancing at his other crewmates as if judging if his action was correct, Tank released Luthier.

Luthier broke into a tiny smile and took Emily's hand. "Emily, huh…? Well, uh, Emily… Thanks." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I mean… _thanks._ Like, a lot."

Emily just smiled.

* * *

Emily leaned against the railing on the stern of the ship, shading her eyes with her hand, and watched Valm Harbor disappear into the distance; as she watched, she saw a small fleet of ships pulling into the Harbor. She didn't recognize their banner; it wasn't Plegia's, and it certainly wasn't Valm's. Whose, then?

Emily moved her staff, still wrapped in its blankets, from her lap to the floor next to her, and she delved into her satchel, producing her gift from Jeremiah.

 _July 15th:_

 _Sirus made an unwanted advance this morning. I was somewhat horrified that only John stood up for me; Sirus's underlings even cheered him on somewhat for touching me so inappropriately. I can hardly wait for their departure._

 _That was nothing compared to what John told me later that day. Everything I had thought about his old family was completely wrong. It was worse than I could have imagined._

 _Everything is changing—everything HAS been changing for far too long. When can everything return to normal again? When can I just enjoy my simple life with John and Jer again?_

 _I suppose I shouldn't think like that. It's that kind of thinking that made me so inconsolable last month. I need to learn that things DO get better; just a year from last January, I was ambling about a desert. I just need faith, is all!_

Emily's expression darkened into melancholy.

She turned to the next page.

 _July 16th:_

She plucked a pen from her satchel, and it eagerly hovered over the diary.

"Hey, Lass! Er, Emily, I mean!"

Emily shut the journal and quickly returned it and the pen to her satchel. "Hm?" she replied.

Nina approached and sat next to Emily. She squinted at the steadily shrinking harbor and the foreign fleet encroaching upon it. "Are those ships Ylissean? They _really_ think they can fight Valm with only those numbers? That's, like, three ships!" She sighed. "Guess we left at the right time."

Nina adjusted to sit cross-legged, and faced Emily. "So, Emily, now? Glad to hear you know your real name! Sounds way better than Lass, in my opinion."

For all Emily knew, 'Emily' _was_ her real name, so she saw no reason to refute Nina's assertion.

"Plus—though my memory might just be messing up—it seems like you talk a little better! You fit a few more words between those gaps, seems like."

Emily sighed John's sigh. Emily's words were much sloppier than usual, but if Nina was this impressed, then Emily was loath to remember how poor her words were last year.

Emily stared down at her hands. John was gone, and so was everyone else she'd ever known in Valm Harbor; and now, she was back with the pirates. The _pirates._ What a twist of fate. History repeating.

Her thoughts returned to her manner of speech. Day in and day out, in Valm, she worked hard to perfect her vocabulary, her grammar, and her delivery; she concentrated relentlessly to speak like a normal, undamaged person.

Was it worth the effort anymore? In the company of _pirates?_

No. It was back to her roots.

She _had_ legitimately improved, she knew. Nina was right: Emily could effortlessly fit more words into each phrase, but the days of seemingly complete mastery of language were gone.

Emily forced a smile for Nina. "Thank you…" she said.

Nina patted Emily on the back amicably. Suddenly, Nina's expression lit up in excitement, and she raised her left hand, pointing at a finger. "Oh! Emily! I totally forgot to tell you!"

Emily looked at the hand of interest. "It's… a ring?" Emily suppressed uncomfortable memories of last month.

A voice came from behind: "That's right!"

Emily glanced over her shoulder. "Dobus?"

Dobus beamed proudly, and Nina stood; Emily succumbed to peer pressure and stood as well.

Nina approached Dobus and threw an arm over his shoulder before turning to grin at Emily.

Emily gestured at them. "You two are married…?"

"Yep!" Nina planted a kiss on Dobus's cheek. "Long time coming, I think. Happened back last fall. I'd been _pretending_ to be his wife for long enough, am I right?"

"Definitely!" said Dobus. "Sorry, Lass, but I guess I'm a taken man now."

Emily couldn't resist a small smile at the teasing. "I am… happy for you."

"Thanks, Emily. It means a lot, for real." Nina dropped her arm from Dobus, and punched him playfully on the shoulder. "Don't you have a ship to run?"

Emily blinked. "Oh…! You don't get seasick anymore…?"

Dobus's expression fell, and he began to pale. "Oh, gods." His hand clasped over his mouth, and he hurried away.

Nina laughed loudly. "You just _had_ to say somethin', didn't you, Lass? Agh, _Emily_. Geez, that's gonna take some getting used to."

Emily was watching Dobus run with concern in her eyes. Without a word, she picked up her wrapped item and hastily followed him.

"Emily? Hey, Emily, where are…?" Nina curiously watched her go before pursuing them both.

* * *

Dobus was lying facedown on his bed, moaning into his pillow.

Emily frowned at him as she entered. "Captain?" she murmured, and began to unravel her present from her father.

Dobus turned his head slightly, and scowled, waving her off. "Go away, Laaa—aa—nng… Gods, this sucks!"

"I know, dear… I know…"

Emily knelt by Dobus's bed, and raised the Recover staff.

Nina leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms and grinning curiously. "Is that a…?"

The lunar staff glowed, and a green light engulfed Dobus. He stiffened, surprised.

Within a moment, the glow subsided. Emily watched Dobus tentatively.

Dobus lifted his head from the pillow, his eyebrows furrowed. He raised a hand, and made as if to speak.

Then, he bent over the side of the bed and retched onto the floor. Emily found herself recoiling away from the mess.

Nina threw her head back in laughter, notifying Emily of her presence. "Well, guess it was worth a shot," Nina said.

Emily's face fell. "I'm sorry… I thought I could…"

"Don't worry about it. I mean, you used a whole portion of Recover on him! That's an expensive favor. I didn't know you could use staves at _all,_ much less a high-rank one! That's really useful."

Dobus caught their attention with a feeble wave. "B-Bottom deck," he groaned. "Loot from last time… there's a Restore staff… Get it!"

"Aye, aye," Nina said jubilantly. She gestured out the door. "Emily?"

* * *

The Restore staff worked, so, for the first time, Captain Dobus of the Dobus Pirates was actually able to command his pirates during a sea voyage.

He made the same order as last time: "No one's gonna take advantage of Emily."

Emily soured at those words. She now knew what they meant, and it was not comforting that Dobus had to command them to prevent them from doing it.

Vile.

* * *

That night was the first big change.

"We've got a room open, actually," said Nina. "My room. It's all yours; I'll be staying with Dobus."

Emily voiced her surprise that the room wasn't already occupied by anyone else.

Nina chuckled. "I usually take the room for myself during voyages. I tell you, Dobus is _not_ a fun bunkmate on most days, but you fixed that little problem for us, didn't you?"

A small measure of warmth grew in Emily at those words.

* * *

 _July 17th:_

 _Today was uneventful. Truth be told, I'm happy for it. I have time to collect my thoughts, and to grieve. I do not know for certain if John is truly dead, but I can see no good in allowing myself false hope._

 _I never, ever dreamed I would ever say, or write, or think, these words… but here they are: I missed these pirates. Some of them, anyway. Nina, Tank, Bartholomew (they laughed when I called him that)… Even Dobus is a much better man than I had assumed. My knowledge of staves probably helps me get along; it seems I'm rather useful here. That is very good. I still find it difficult to adjust to the pirates' more… free vocabulary, however._

 _And Luthier, formerly known as Letter Killer, holds doors for me, and helps me lift things, and in general just compliments me, as if he thinks he owes me something. I do not understand why. Is life not an inherent right for a good person? Truth be told… as much as I revile Sirus, as much as I hate how his name stains the pages of this journal, and how my lips cannot forget the disgusting touch of his, I would not wish death on him. Perhaps it is because yesterday already feels like a fleeting memory… because I know for certain that I felt differently then. But enough about him. I'd sooner forget everything that transpired yesterday._

 _I suppose the one change of pace today was after we switched course from northeast to southeast. Ylisse-bound._

* * *

Emily stepped to the railing, her mouth open slightly and her eyes wide.

The smell of smoke filled the air. The pirate ship navigated slowly to avoid detritus.

"Gods," one of the pirates said. "Would you look at this mess…"

"How many d'you think, Barty? Hundreds?"

"S'gotta be thousands," said Barty in awe. "All with the same banner… It's the whole damn Valmese fleet!"

Emily watched as the splintered bow of a ship drifted close by. The banner was the same as the unusual one from the harbor.

"That one's runnin' Ylisse colors," Tank said. "But look—no bodies, or supplies, or anythin'. Looks like it was unmanned."

"Gods!" came a voice from the side, and all eyes turned to him. "It was the ghost ship!"

"Oh, shaddap," said Barty. "Those tales ain't real."

"Then how d'you explain it, huh?" the pirate insisted. "The ghost ship came an' stole them souls!"

"That doesn't even make sense," Nina scoffed. "Even the weirdest stories about the ghost ship didn't say jack about stealing souls."

"Look though! Tons of Valmese ships, tons of Ylissean ships! It attacked both sides!"

 _"Or,_ it was any naval battle ever," Nina continued. "'Course there's gonna be casualties on both sides. That's what happens." She surveyed the wreckage, which seemed to span forever in any direction. "So many losses for Ylisse, no wonder there were only a few ships left to arrive at the harbor." She shrugged. "Whatever."

Nina walked away from the railing, and soon, most of the other pirates returned their duties elsewhere on the ship.

Emily continued to watch the burning fires for a few more minutes. What tremendous destruction. This was war? There truly was no way to prevent such vast losses of life?

She remembered Sirus's tales about the Conqueror. That strong-over-weak mentality, the unflinching determination to unite the world under Walhart's banner… Perhaps there truly was no other way to stop him, besides more violence.

She turned away from the flames.

* * *

 _July 28th:_

 _I am finding my rediscovered speech impediment to be a boon._

 _I am loath to speak of—or think of, truly—my past in Valm Harbor, so whenever Nina asks of it, I can easily change the subject by refusing to speak, or by speaking in circles._

 _I feel a measure of guilt for not opening up to Nina, but these memories are my own. I'd much rather keep them that way. Nina and I have plenty of other things to talk about, anyway, and I'd rather not sour our friendship (or worse, inspire her pity) by sharing my story._

 _I remember when I used to consider myself a very open person. I thought I had no secrets to keep. I suppose much has changed._

* * *

 _August 3rd:_

 _We're going to go south around the_ continent _of Ylisse to get to the_ country _of Ylisse (how confusing), so we stopped in Regna Ferox first, for food, supplies, and… mingling, I suppose. These pirates tend to get antsy when cooped up on a ship for too long—and by that I mean they become angry drunks instead of party drunks. They have hit on me more than once, though they fortunately always have the sense to understand 'no.' I, personally, haven't touched a drop of alcohol; Naga forbid I do, for then I may just say 'yes.'_

 _Nina insisted we go shopping together, so we did. Port Ferox was extremely different from Valm or Plegia Harbors. The people are louder and rougher, even more so than the pirates, and in general just seemed rude. Nina, apparently a Feroxi herself, assured me that that is just how people are in Regna Ferox, and that I shouldn't take it personally. I took her words to heart, and enjoyed our time there._

 _Nina also purchased a concoction from a lady (eerily similar in appearance to Anna, from before) that purportedly makes hair grow quickly. Against my advice, Nina used it; shockingly, it worked. So, Nina has long hair again, after apparently more than five years. Good for her—I think she looks beautiful with it. (She later returned the favor by brushing my hair, making it look more presentable, if still somewhat curly; I rather like the look, and will keep it for the foreseeable future.)_

 _In general, I was having quite a pleasant time, until…_

* * *

"Everything's on sale," the Feroxi merchant said, with a sly grin. "I'm callin' it the Postwar Special. Trademark pending."

"Postwar?" Nina said, surprised. "The war with Valm is over?"

"Yep! Word came in just yesterday. The Ylisse-Ferox army kicked the crap out of those Valmese bastards, and we can all thank Khan Flavia and Ylisse's Exalt and tactician for it." His face fell. "Sad to hear of West-Khan Basilio's death, but… stories say he went out the way any Feroxi would want! With an axe in his hands and a badass cause behind him. Naga be with 'im." He waved it away. "But I'm not here to tell stories: I'm here to celebrate the kicking of every last Valmese soldier's ass! Heh, I bet they died the way _they_ lived: tails tucked between their legs, crying for their mothers. Ha! Anyway, what can I fix you with…?"

Emily was speechless.

Jeremiah. Ylisse's victory likely meant his death.

She would later hear that thousands and thousands of Valm's soldiers fell before Ylisse and its allies. Any one of them could have been Jer, placed in an unlucky assignment.

Like John, Jer was no longer an option. He was no longer something Emily could go home to. She truly had nothing left for her in Valm.

A bitterness grew within her for Ylisse. They had killed hundreds of thousands of Valmese with not a one of their number given in return. Even Ferox felt the pain of this war; this port had been ravaged, and many of them had fallen in battle, including Khan Basilio himself.

But Ylisse? What did they know of loss? Did they understand the pain of everyone who had to suffer through the death of a loved one? Or were they desensitized from their own apparent invincibility?

Emily found herself angry. She could not remember the last time she had felt such fury within her—and it was all directed at Ylisse. The entitled, perfect country, with the perfect tactician and the perfect ruler.

She took a long, deep breath to calm herself.

* * *

 _August 3rd (cont.):_

 _In stark contrast, the rest of the pirates were overjoyed by the news. I have never seen a greater level of inebriation, and I don't know if I would like to see it again. Suffice to say there were many fights picked with Feroxi locals for no reason. Were they not both celebrating for the same cause? At least everyone was friendly about it afterwards…_

 _In any case, Captain Dobus stated that, after visiting Ylisse, we will be returning to Valm, since everything has finally calmed down over there._

 _I, for one, am hesitant. I am perfectly unwilling to have my fears about John and Jeremiah proven true; but, on the other hand, if I was proven wrong?_

 _I suppose time will tell. For now, however, we are continuing on to Ylisse… perfect Ylisse._

* * *

 _August 21st:_

 _I… can't really describe what happened today, but I will certainly try._

 _We had circled around south Plegia, and were now heading east for Ylisse…_

* * *

"Captain! Ship directly ahead; prolly half a klick out!"

Dobus frowned, snatching the telescope and pressing it to his eye. "Gods, that ship's seen better days," he murmured.

"Cap'n, that mast is real messed up," the pirate said warily. "Like… how's it even sailing?"

"I dunno, but let's be real careful," said Dobus.

"Ya think it's the ghost ship?" the pirate whispered fearfully.

Dobus retracted the telescope and handed it back to his subordinate. "Pretty sure that ain't real… but I ain't taking any chances. Be ready for a fight."

"Aye, cap'n…"

* * *

The crew was dead silent as the other ship passed by, to starboard. Every pirate watched with bated breath.

The other ship's planks were black and green with moss and rotten to the core. Not a soul stirred above decks, and it flew no colors; the ship was uninhabited.

Barty leaned close to Emily, and whispered (unwilling to break the tense silence), "Hey. Look at the ship's stern. …See that?"

Emily squinted. Yes, the entire ship seemed to be falling apart at the seams, and was filth-ridden… but that discolored waste pile was inexplicable. Her nose wrinkled at the mere sight of it; though she now realized the entire 'ghost ship' was rank.

Ghost ship, she supposed, was the best name for this anyway, regardless of the truth in those tales. And those stories—

Barty's breath caught, catching Emily's attention. She looked around curiously before her eyes settled on the waste pile once again.

A hooded face, with the cowl of a scarecrow, now loomed from the pile, its eyes glowing red with inhuman malice. A chill ran down Emily's spine, and she found herself frozen to the spot.

"Risen," Barty breathed. "Oh, gods, the ghost ship is real. It's actually real."

The pirates continued to watch, paralyzed by fear, as the ship drew even with theirs, its starboard mere meters from the pirates', and, slowly, continued to drift past. The Risen's red eyes never stopped staring at Emily, its head turning to track her even as the ship continued listing westward.

Emily's mouth was open, her eyes unblinking. This was such a primal fear within her chest—this was fear she had never known.

When the ghost ship was far enough behind, the pirates let out a collective gasp for breath, none realizing they were holding it. Fearful chatter resonated from pirate to pirate.

"Sweet Naga, did you see the _eyes?!_ They wouldn't stop following me!"

"It's real! It's freaking _real!"_

"Why didn't it attack?"

Emily's initial wave of terror had subsided, and now she was simply shivering, unable to budge her feet. When Dobus was able to pacify his crew and return them to work, Emily still stood immobile.

"Emily! Hey, Emily. You alright?"

She absently turned toward the voice, but she could still see those eyes. That Risen… that pure, predatory intent to kill… It exuded evil, a supernatural evil that she could not comprehend. The horror was mind-numbing.

"Hey!"

Hands shook her by the shoulders, and she blinked awake. "Hm…? Oh! Hello."

Luthier sighed, relieved. "Yeah, that was pretty freaky. But are you alright? Ya look pretty shaken."

Emily shivered once more. "I… I think so. That… Risen…"

"Yeah, and an Entombed at that," Luthier said. "Those ones are especially nasty… and freaky. But they ain't invincible, I'll tell you that, and it feels real good to kill one."

Emily took a breath and forced a smile. "Thank you, Luthier… I feel better," she lied.

* * *

 _September 4th:_

 _We finally landed in Ylisse._

* * *

"Don't you want to come with me to port?" Nina asked cheerfully. "We could go shopping again."

"Valm… was my home…" said Emily.

Nina's face fell. "Yeah, well, I might've been born in Ferox, but Valm was my home too," she said. "But listen: it was the Valmese that chased us out. It's for the best that those assholes got killed."

Emily thought of Jeremiah. Conscripted into that army… A true, noble man, in the employ of a tyrant.

The thought that he could be dead, by Ylisse's hands… "I… cannot come with you."

"It isn't these people's fault that Valm fell," Nina insisted. "This is just a port town, and a remote one at that."

"I am not angry…" said Emily. Her gaze drifted away, into the horizon. "But… I cannot forgive them… Not yet."

* * *

 _September 4th (cont.):_

 _Nina insisted I join her for shopping, just like back in Regna Ferox; but this time, I refused._

 _I could see from the porthole just how happy those people were. The people sheltered from war and conflict, who didn't understand. Jer's murderers…_

 _I've never mentioned Jer before, but Nina is too smart to suspect nothing. She eventually left me be._

 _I explored the vast, empty pirate ship for the remainder of the day. There wasn't much to see, and I still remember it inside and out from last time. I found a few of my old hiding spots, and a wave of sadness came over me with each discovery. Perhaps Luthier DOES owe me something, after all…_

 _When the others returned, it was very clear they had been drinking again, but more importantly, each pirate carried more supplies than seemed physically possible to carry. They mentioned a red-haired merchant offering everything on discount, so they bought enough to stack the ship for months. We wouldn't even have to make any stops on the return trip to Valm._

 _…In all my time alone, I couldn't stop wondering what I will make of my life. Will I always be with these pirates? Is this Emily, now? Will I ever marry? Have children? Live a peaceful life? I don't know. No options seem appealing, much less_ likely.

 _I wonder if it really matters… After all, I am Emily, but I am not Emily. I don't have an identity to begin with. I could just disappear into nothingness…_

* * *

 _September 19th:_

* * *

"Cap'n! There's a ship, due west!"

Dobus snatched the telescope again. "You're right… Damn, it's back. After all this time…" He handed the telescope off. "It's heading northeast, though. If we adjust to head southwest, we'll dodge it by a wide margin." He took a breath. "Hopefully it'll ignore us, like last time. Keep me posted."

"Aye."

Dobus turned away and marched toward the stairs, heading below decks.

"Oy! Nina!"

Nina answered with "In Emily's room!"

Dobus entered, finding the two girls in an interrupted conversation.

"What's up, cap'n?" Nina said casually.

"It's back," Dobus said. "It's the ghost ship."

Both Nina and Emily froze. "Seriously?" Nina whispered.

When Emily closed her eyes, she could see the burning red lights from the Entombed. A chill ran down her spine.

"Yeah," answered Dobus. "Get everyone ready for combat. We're gonna try to avoid it, but I've got a seriously bad feeling."

Nina nodded and stood. "Stay here, Emily. I'll protect you, okay?"

Emily hesitantly nodded.

* * *

She ended up disobeying anyway, and found herself on the top deck.

It was a perfect recreation of their first encounter with the ghost ship. Every pirate stood there, watching, waiting, while the ghost ship lazily drifted closer.

"I thought it was headed northeast?" she heard someone whisper.

"It changed its heading when we did," came the reply. "It's been matching our movements for the last half-hour. And I don't like how close it is right now…"

"Me neither…"

Emily swallowed nervously. The ship was as slow, as daunting, as last time. It was now moving directly parallel to the pirate ship, just off starboard, seemingly with the same intent to pass by as last time. Emily could only hope this was still the case.

Dobus glanced over his shoulder at the crowd assembled on the deck. "Everyone stay calm, aight?" he said. "Just… keep cool." He turned back to face the ghost ship.

So, everyone held their breath, watching the ghost ship coast ever closer.

Suddenly, the ghost ship swiveled sharply, its bow directly aiming for the pirate ship.

With only an instant to react, Dobus shouted, _"BRAAACE!"_ and threw himself onto the deck; the other pirates immediately followed suit, and Emily felt a strong hand pull her down as well.

The hull shuddered violently from the impact, shaking the ship to its core. Emily was breathless, her hands covering her head in a panic; she heard shouts and movement around her, but could not move herself.

"Oy! Lass!"

Grips on her shoulders, and she was brought to her feet. Luthier released her, concern in his eyes. "You alright? Go below decks, right now! This is a boarding act—"

A spray of red cast across Emily, making her flinch. Luthier stared down, dumbfounded, at the spear protruding from his chest.

Emily watched in horror as the spear retreated, and Luthier collapsed into a bloodied heap.

A Risen stood on the other side, its face impassive but for the horrifically evil malice in its eyes. It hissed at the sight of Emily and raised its spear again.

It was interrupted by a giant man barreling into it, his axe ripping the monster apart from shoulder to hip. It burst into purple smoke.

Tank glanced away from his kill. "Emily! Below decks, _now!_ Lock yerself in the cap'n's quarters!"

Emily complied, immediately dashing to the stairs and racing down them as quickly as possible. She continued running, past her own room and on to Dobus's, in the stern of the ship; she was probably safest there.

* * *

She ensconced herself within the captain's quarters, locking the door and hiding at the foot of the bed.

In, out. In, out. Her breathing techniques weren't working.

Minutes and minutes went by. The noise of combat above decks continued for an eternity. The clamor was deafening.

Emily drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face into them. In, out. The thought of John popped into her head, of his refusal to let her enlist.

He was so right. The first taste of combat, and she runs and hides. For goodness' sake, where even _was_ the Recover staff?

She kicked herself. It was in her room, of course. But she was too terrified to move; she couldn't go get it.

Several more minutes went by. Gradually, the clamor above seemed to be getting quieter.

More minutes.

More.

More.

Finally… silence.

All she could hear was the creaking of the pirate ship as it gently tilted on the waves.

Emily peered around the foot of Dobus's bed. The door was slightly open; that lock was as worthless as ever.

Emily slowly climbed to her feet, taking hesitant steps closer to the door.

Who had won? The pirates? The Risen? What would she find outside this door?

Dread crawled throughout her, leaving chills in its wake. Emily hesitated momentarily, her hand hovering before the door handle. Taking a deep breath, she pulled, opening the door wide.

Her hand covered her mouth. A solitary corpse lay before the door, crimson blood drenching the surrounding floor. The body was seemingly alone, but scattered splashes of purple color nearby let Emily know that many Risen had fallen before the warrior finally succumbed.

Emily knelt down, brushing Nina's long hair out of the way. She ran her hand down Nina's face and closed her friend's sleeping eyes.

A silent tear dripped from Emily's chin and onto Nina's bloodied cheek. Emily pressed her forehead against Nina's, quietly trembling.

Suddenly, she heard movement from nearby; she stood, startled by the sound. After one last, longing glance toward Nina, Emily slowly approached the noise.

She gradually made her way through the ship, eventually finding herself at the base of the stairs heading above decks. She quietly moved up the creaky steps, gripping the handrails tightly, terrified by the silence hanging in the air.

Emily stopped at the top of the stairs, her hands falling to her side. She staggered a few absent steps forward.

Bodies. Everywhere. Not a soul moved. Barty's corpse rested in the middle of the deck; Tank was just next to the ghost ship's boarding ramp, caked in blood and purple miasma. The mustached pirate lay prone nearby.

A tear ran down Emily's trembling cheek. Everyone.

Suddenly, from behind came the same noise from before, and with it a foul stench; Emily turned around.

A small pile of waste sat at the top of the stairs, where it had not been moments prior.

From the depths of the pile, a malefic cowl rose, revealing its soulless red eyes and ever-open maw, dripping with rank mucus.

The monster continued to rise. Its head was followed by yellowed, rotten flesh, seemingly cobbled together by thread and needle, and thick as leather.

Emily saw no more of the beast, her eyes were so locked onto the Entombed's. She watched as it continued to rise until it fully towered at nearly twice her height.

The thought entered her mind to run, but her legs were unresponsive, and even fear soon began to fail her, her thoughts all but empty. Nothing but the intense, dark stare between the last two survivors of this battle.

Emily became aware of a guttural moan rising from the Risen's chest, as it began to tense, ready to attack.

The Entombed leaned closer, its eyes inches from Emily's. It menacingly reached for her with one hand, the other curled into a weighty bludgeon.

It grasped her hair with its massive hand, its decayed thumb roughly pushing aside her bangs.

Its moan returned, louder and clearer than ever: it seemed to be forming speech, but in her trance, Emily could not understand the word it spoke.

Its fists raised, its stare unbroken, and its moan constant, it finally struck.

Emily's eyes closed, awaiting the end.

 _"No you don't!"_

Emily opened her eyes in time to see a sword protrude from the Entombed's abdomen.

It stared down at the wound, unblinking, and its hands moved toward the blade as if to remove it.

But the sword quickly dragged upwards in a swift, clean line, ripping the Entombed apart from navel to shoulder.

The Entombed let out one last moan, staring for a final time at Emily, before it burst into purple smoke, rustling Emily's hair from the small gust of resulting wind.

At once, all the fear she should have felt in the previous moments attacked her, and she found herself gasping for air, stumbling down to a knee.

"Lass… Emily."

Emily turned to the voice, her savior hunching over her. "C-Capt… Captain," she said softly, relieved. "You're… a-alive…"

Dobus smiled wanly, and Emily suddenly noticed his limp gait and the way he clutched his red-stained side so tightly. Her relief vanished.

"Listen… Emily," Dobus said gruffly. His sword fell from his hand, clattering against the deck. He took a step closer to Emily, and stumbled, but kept his balance. "I… I need your h-help." He nodded at the ghost ship looming behind Emily. "We need to… to separate from that thing."

Emily nodded, slowly getting to her feet. "You… need… healing," she whispered.

"We'll worry about _me,_ ah… later, okay…?" he muttered, and continued staggering forward; Emily stood and helped him walk.

They walked together to the ship's stern, standing behind the ship's wheel. Dobus leaned on it, and he reached into his pockets, eventually pulling an old, worn, green book from them.

"Em-Emily," he groaned. He offered her the book. "Tell me… Tell me you can use tomes."

Emily stared at the book and slowly accepted it. It was not Elfire, but… "Y-Yes."

"Thank Naga…" He turned to face the wheel. "Get some wind goin'… into the sail, aight? We need to move away, and this breeze ain't enough…" He gestured. "Center ship… cast that into the sail. 'Kay?"

Emily frowned, concerned, at the pain she saw in Dobus's eyes, but did not refuse. She nodded, and then she hurried away for the center of the deck.

* * *

Dobus watched her go, the pain flashing behind his eyes. He struggled to keep himself conscious, refusing to rest against the wheel for fear of never awakening if he did so.

He spotted Emily reaching the center of the ship and gazing up at the mast. She looked over her shoulder at him, and he offered a weak smile and a thumbs-up.

She glowed with golden runes, and green blades of wind rose from her palm and across the sails.

Dobus put all his might into shifting the wheel to port, away from the ghost ship; with a massive, creaking roar, the two ships separated, and the wheel no longer resisted Dobus.

Dobus's body failed him, and he collapsed, wheezing.

 _Just like a nap,_ he thought, amusing himself. _Feels much better down here on the ground. I think I'll just…_

Dobus's eyes slowly closed.

* * *

"…tain!"

Dobus's eyebrows furrowed.

"Captain!"

Emily shook Dobus again, waking him. She clutched the Recover staff in her other hand, and tears lined her eyes. "Not…yet! You can't…!" She moved the staff to hover over Dobus's chest.

Dobus coughed, brushing the staff away with his hand. He chuckled weakly to himself. _Figures._ "L-Lass… Emily, sorry. Don't… Don't bother… okay? It's my time."

"It'll work," Emily said firmly. "It will!"

"Heh… I'm sure." His hand rested on the Recover, silently refusing her aid. "Listen… I don't _wanna_ die, Emily, but I ain't a coward… I know when I'm beaten. An' life without… without Nina? Without my crew…?" He shook his head weakly. "Nahhh… I couldn't do it. One way or another… I'd rather be with my family, y'know?"

"That's not fair!" Emily cried. Tears ran down her face, as she thought of Luthier, of Barty, of Nina, of Jer, of John, of all the people she had loved, who had all left her here to suffer. "You can't leave me alone!"

"Emily." Dobus spoke with surprising firmness. "You need to learn to let a man die."

"Th-Then…" Emily produced the Wind tome. She pointed her open palm inwards. "Me… me, too." She shook her head, terrified. "I can't… I can't go on… I can't keep letting this happen to me! _Everyone_ leaves me! Why can I never come with them? I need it all to end…!"

"Emily!" Dobus lacked the energy to sit up, so he grabbed her self-threatening wrist. "You were never one of us… Not really. You've got life to live yet! So _live,_ dammit!" He reached for the Wind tome and pulled it from her unresisting grip. "Find your own family, okay? You… You've got to…" He broke down into blood-spitting coughs, his head falling back limply. "E… Emily… Live… Please. For us… for Nina…"

Emily's grip slackened on Recover, and it fell aside, useless.

She buried her face into Dobus's chest, crying uncontrollably, even long after life had left him.

* * *

 _September 20th:_

 _My first day of solitude has passed. Everyone is dead. I searched the entire ship, and not a soul remains. The pirates and the Risen killed each other man-for-man, leaving only me alive. What a cruel turn of fate._

 _The ship now drifts, constantly in motion, for the breeze never dies; in what direction, I do not know. Perhaps it will continue sailing onward to eternity. Perhaps I now sit aboard a true ghost ship._

 _The supplies below were meant to feed the entire crew for another month. With only me, this food and water will last for much longer. Perhaps I should have hope… but_ _…_

* * *

 _September 22nd:_

 _Three days and no sight. I sees nothing in anywhere…_

 _What? …Excuse me, I'll scratch that out later. I meant, there is no land in any direction. I do not know how to change our heading, nor do I know if that would even be the best course of action._

 _I attempted to move the bodies to more respectable positions, where their deaths appeared more dignified, but I could not bear to touch Nina. I can no longer visit that part of the ship, or I shall become consumed by deps… depoinsft… by, by despair, that is._

* * *

 _Spetmember_

 _Stpe_

 _TSsf_

 _…_

 _S-E-P-T-E-M-B-E-R 24th:_

 _No contact, no speaking, makes words hard_

 _Hrd to spell somtimes—Hard to spell, sometimes_

 _Ive worn out pages from scratching out words, but gave up since_

 _No sign of land_

 _No sign of rescue_

 _No reason for hope_

 _Time draws close_

* * *

 _September 26th:_

 _It's been a week_

 _Too alone_

 _Different from first trip; then, could eavesdrop, heard human voices, even while hiding_

 _But now, silent_

 _Nothing but ocean_

 _Nothing but_

* * *

 _september_

 _maybe?_

 _september… somethingth_

 _it doesnt matter_

 _times up_

 _there is a mountain of food_

 _but i shall not touch it_

 _i_

 _am_

 _dead_

 _and no one will remember_

 _i disappear into nothing_

 _just like i appeared_

 _just like ive always been_

 _goodbye, journal_

 _memory of jer_

 _i will not cry_

* * *

Her journal sat somewhere, untouched for days.

Emily lay sprawled on the deck, staring up at the sky, at the clouds that moved so fast from this relentless wind. She kept one hand clasped around her necklace, the other one limp by her side. The Recover staff lay nearby, as if watching the sky along with her. It may as well be a mile away.

Her breathing was weak, raspy. Her throat was dry, and her stomach ached. The sun burned down on her from above, and her lips and skin were cracked and painful.

 _It wouldn't be so bad,_ she mused. _It wouldn't._

So weak. So weak. But not yet. She wasn't ready yet. She needed more time. To prepare.

* * *

Hours passed. Silent, agonizing hours, but Emily smiled happily through the pain.

 _I am ready._

She didn't feel it when the ship lurched to a slow halt as it reached its destination.

She didn't hear the curious voices.

She just closed her eyes, her benevolent smile peacefully unbroken.


	5. Part V

**V**

* * *

 _Why._

Emily sat up from her bed, rubbing her eyes sullenly. She spotted a girl sitting with her back to Emily, seemingly knitting something.

Emily breathed a long and empty sigh.

The girl glanced over her shoulder, beaming widely. "You're awake!" She placed her knitting on the table next to her and turned in her seat to face Emily. "Hi!"

Emily looked the girl up and down. She dressed oddly; Emily had seen women in fancy dresses and women in simple work clothes, but this girl's apparel seemed to lie somewhere in the middle. She wore long, red robes, with a simple tunic underneath; her hair was a dark shade of red to match. She wore a simple necklace adorned with a ruby, completing the theme.

Emily blinked as she realized the other girl's hand was extended in greeting. "…Pleased to meet you!" the girl said, finishing whatever her sentence had been.

"U-Um…" Emily reached out, accepting the handshake. "Hello… Um… What did you say… your name was?"

Emily spotted the tiniest of emotional quirks in the girl's face: a slight depression, sadness, likely from hearing Emily's manner of speech. "Ah—Rjorn. Rjorn is my name."

"Rjorn," Emily repeated, nodding. She forced a smile. "Nice to meet you… Rjorn."

Rjorn nodded, and tilted her head slightly. "How about you? What's your name?" she asked with a curious, friendly smile.

"Emily," she replied.

Rjorn's smiled dimmed once again. "…Ah." Her eyes shifted aside slightly. "Nice to meet you, Miss… Emily."

Emily's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She was telling the truth; why did Rjorn not seem to believe her?

It didn't matter. "Where am I?" asked Emily.

Rjorn giggled. "The middle of nowhere," she said. "Technically, the island we're on is a ways southeast from Valm, but nobody even knows about it, seems like. Remote as remote can get." She gestured around. "You can probably tell, from how small this house is, that what constitutes civilization here is a tiny little village."

"Really?" Emily murmured. "How did I, um… get here?"

Rjorn paused for a moment. "Miss Emily, do you… remember anything?"

"Up to a certain point," Emily said quietly. "About a year and a half…?"

"So you remember the ship? All the… the people on it? What happened to all of them?"

Emily became aware of a giant weight on her shoulders, and it increased as she heard those words. "…Risen."

Rjorn's eyes held sympathy. "Oh… Oh dear. I'm sorry…" Rjorn reached out, placing her hand on Emily's comfortingly.

Though Emily felt betrayed by Rjorn—felt cheated by winding up on this island instead of with everyone she loved—she did not refuse Rjorn's gesture.

…But Rjorn could sense a measure of hostility, and pulled away of her own accord. "I really am sorry. I can't pretend to understand your pain… And… I know we couldn't possibly replace your friends… But, please give us a chance." She stood and gestured at the door. "Just, go meet everyone, okay? We'll be happy to take care of you for the time being."

Emily frowned. For the time being? As if Emily had anywhere else to be.

She stood, and as she did so, she noticed something on Rjorn's desk next to the knitting: the journal.

Alarmed, Emily reached for it, quickly taking it in her hands and looking around for her satchel.

"Oh," Rjorn said, flushing red. "I… um… I kinda read some of that, sorry. I didn't know what it was…"

Emily found her satchel, tucked the journal within, and stood, looping the satchel over her shoulder. She turned to Rjorn and smiled. "It's okay… I'm not embarrassed…"

Rjorn sighed, relieved. "Whew! Thought I'd make you mad. Sorry."

"What… day is it, today?"

Rjorn paused, squinting thoughtfully. "Uh… I'm pretty sure it's the seventh. We found you two days ago."

 _Two days?_

Emily's stomach rumbled deeply.

 _I haven't eaten in so long… And gods, Rjorn seems so nice. She and the others have taken care of me so much already…_

Emily smiled genuinely. "Thank you… for everything… Could I, um, get some food…?"

Rjorn beamed. "Of course! Right this way."

* * *

 _October 7th:_

 _Everyone is as nice as Rjorn said. It's the kindness one would expect from hosts, I suppose. The food was quite satisfactory, but whether that was from flavor or sheer starvation—_

 _…Gods, I'm rereading what I write, and I sound so cynical. That isn't me… It isn't._

 _I do not like the way I have acted lately. The villagers deserve better from me than forced smiles, half-sincere thanks, and snide comments written in my journal._

 _Many, many people have died for me, and part of me died with each of them. But I am not dead yet. Captain Dobus was right: I do have life ahead of me, and I will not squander it in self-pity. That is not what all the people who have died would… want…_

 _…_

 _So… I am going to put my pen down right now, leave my new dwelling, go to the feast, and mingle with my new friends as long as there is sunlight to enjoy. I can put off my more… somber thoughts for a later time._

* * *

"Really? You're a healer?" the neighbor asked—Emily struggled to remember his name. Bors? Barth? Something like that.

She nodded, smiling pleasantly. "I had a, um… Recover, aboard the ship. I've only used it… two or three times…"

Before the man could express his impression, a finger tapped Emily's shoulder. An unfamiliar face with thick, bushy eyebrows and a mustache (though far less impressive than the Mustache Man's) greeted her.

His smile curled up the corners of his mustache. "Miss Emily?"

Emily nodded.

"I am the village elder," he continued amicably. "Is it all right if we speak in private?"

A little more hesitantly, Emily nodded again. She stood from the table and followed the Elder.

The Elder talked jovially as they walked, though despite Emily's best efforts, she was unable to pay attention to all of it. Something about the history of the island, the Exalted King Alm, and a Ram Valley. Emily was never keen on history lessons.

Soon, the Elder led her into his house. It was as small and quaint as any she had seen in this village so far. She found the simplicity soothing.

He gestured at his small dining table. "Please, take a seat."

She obeyed, and he sat across from her, folding his hands and smiling pleasantly. "So! Miss Emily. I take it you've had quite the adventure, hm?"

Emily looked down. "I…"

"Well, rest assured," the Elder continued, "you are quite safe here. This place has been my family's home for generations, and you, of course, are welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Wh… Why?" she asked. "I… am frail… I am a handful, sir… You don't have to be… so kind…"

"But I do. It is a point of pride that we treat our guests like family. After all, they are understandably rare."

The Elder's smile was unbroken. It held a paternal quality not unlike one of John's; she winced in pain.

"Miss Emily… Rjorn told me about your friends. I am truly sorry. That is a pain none should go through."

Emily nodded, gaze averted.

"Such a sad tale," the Elder murmured. "I am fully aware that we cannot suffice as replacement for the family, or families, you have lost, and you deserve better."

"You speak so…" Emily began, and trailed off. She started again: "…What is… the point? I am trying… cordiality… And, I have no place else to go. Obviously I shall, erm… partake, in your hospitality, without need of convincing… So… these words of yours… They seem pointless…"

The Elder's face was serious. Though his bushy brown eyebrows mostly concealed his eyes, Emily could not help but think a glower was hidden in that stare. "Miss Emily: do not think I am stupid. We found all of the food on that ship. All those supplies lay in plain sight, yet, you lay above, allowing yourself to die. Why? Because you lost the will to live. You have lost so much… possibly more than even you know. I cannot trust you will not try to kill yourself again. I will not let that happen."

Emily's shoulders slumped, and she still did not meet the Elder's eye. "What does it _matter…?_ My life is my own… I could do with it as I please…" She looked up at the Elder. "Am I not free to leave…? If I left the village… then… you could not stop me…"

"Must I confine you here to teach you the value of your own life?" the Elder countered. "Are you truly so desperate for an end?"

"Yes."

The word came unbidden to her lips. There was no defiance in her tone, no decisiveness… only defeat. She terrified herself with the response.

The Elder tilted his head, silently frowning with concern.

After a moment: "Emily… Are you familiar with the tale of Marth, the Hero-King?"

"S… Somewhat."

"He was merely a boy when his home was stolen from him," said the Elder. "His father was betrayed and killed, his mother, murdered, and his sister, kidnapped and presumed dead for years. The Hero-King-to-be had no family, no kingdom, and few friends—but he _had_ friends, and in a few short years, he was able to come back from the brink and win back what he had lost, to become the greatest Lord this earth has ever known." He placed a hand on his chest. "Allow us to be your friends, milady. Please. Rjorn already loves you, and in time, the entire village will happily welcome you as though you've always lived here. Please, Miss Emily."

Emily was shivering, despite the thorough lack of chill. "Sir… you… are far too kind… I hardly feel worthy of such words…"

"Such charming humility," said the Elder, beaming. He slowly stood. "You are likely still hungry, so I shall stop pestering you and let you return to the feast."

Emily stood as well, smiling slightly. "Th-Thank you, sir…"

She inclined her head respectfully before leaving.

* * *

Rjorn took a breath; Emily used the pause to let all of Rjorn's small talk sink in. She realized none of it was really important, though, so she didn't let it bother her.

Rjorn set her flask onto the table, looking around at the many empty seats. "The party's getting scarce," she noted with a smile. "Guess it's getting pretty late." She pushed away from the table and stood. "I'm gonna turn in. You wanna join? I've got something to show ya."

"Sure," Emily said softly, and stood as well.

Rjorn was tight-lipped as they walked, letting Emily's curiosity mount. When they finally reached the house Emily had awoken in that morning—Rjorn's home—Rjorn finally spoke.

"So, Emily! Check this out." Emily followed Rjorn into the living room; a red book lay atop a table in the center of the room. "You know what this is?"

"A tome…?" Emily frowned, watching as Rjorn lifted it. "Elfire?"

Rjorn nodded, beaming. "Yeah! I dunno if you could tell from how I dress, but I'm a mage. I use stuff like this all the time, for hunting or other mundane stuff. Like fireplaces… But, um, that's not the point." She held her arms out, offering the tome to Emily. "For you!"

Emily numbly accepted the book, looking at its cover. She didn't dare open it, for fear of repeating history. "Why…?"

"Because you'd be a great mage, that's why!" Rjorn said cheerfully. "You can already use staves super well, and I think you'd be just as talented with tomes."

"M-My father never wanted me… to…" Emily trailed off.

Rjorn bit her lip, pausing for a second. "Your, um, father… He probably only thought of magic as a weapon of war, but really, it's as versatile as a bow or hatchet. It's got non-combat purposes too. If hunting doesn't count as combat… But I said mundane tasks, too, and… Gods, I'm not good with explanations, huh? I mean, it's a useful skill, it's fun, you should totally learn." She grinned. "And I'm gonna teach you! I learned from the Elder, and it's time for me to pass on my talents." Rjorn flicked her hair over her ear, smirking confidently. "I'm only eighteen, so I've never done this teaching thing before, but just you watch, I'll knock your socks off."

They were both quiet for a moment, standing awkwardly in the middle of Rjorn's home.

Rjorn coughed. "M-Maybe we should practice, uh, outside, though. And when there's daylight. Just to be safe."

* * *

 _October 8th_

Emily conjured another fireball, absently watching the magic dissipate into the air again.

Rjorn squealed with the same excitement as ever. "You're a friggin' natural!"

Emily lowered her tome. "Rjorn… do you mind if… we take a break…?"

"Hm?" Rjorn pulled her eyes from where the blaze had been a moment before. "S-Sure thing, sorry! Don't wanna wear ourselves out, do we?"

Emily smiled, watching Rjorn hurry ahead to fetch water from her home. _So eager to please…_

* * *

Emily took a long breath, ready to stop staring into her canteen and finally address the thought that had been nagging her for the last day. "Rjorn… May we speak?"

"Sure!" Rjorn folded her hands in her lap, eagerly attentive.

"The Elder… he said… you love me?"

Rjorn blinked. "Well, why not? You're a sweet girl, and you've got that look that just makes people wanna protect you."

Emily sighed. _Oh, good…_ But she let that thought go, and pressed on. "Does that mean… we are family?"

Rjorn seemed somewhat surprised. "W-Well, sure, if you want? I hadn't really thought about that."

Emily tilted her head, confused. "You didn't… think of that…? But I thought… 'I love you,' is meant for family, or… erm… lovers?"

Emily and Rjorn both blushed at the implications.

"No, no, that's not it," Rjorn said, laughing it off. "Girls, as friends I mean, can love each other almost like real family, you know?"

"Yes," Emily replied, "but doesn't that make the friends, family…?"

"From a certain point of view, I suppose," said Rjorn. "But it's not literal. It's not like you have to live with me in my tent, even if we _were_ sisters. It's friendship. It's a totally different aspect of love, like family or romance, but it can be just as or more intense." Rjorn giggled to herself. "Look at me, rambling about love like I know what I'm talking about. Eh, what can I say? I'm a fan of the concept."

"How do you know…?" Emily pressed. "What… qualifies… love?"

"What _qualifies_ love?" Rjorn rubbed her chin. "Hm… Most people would probably say you _can't_ qualify love, but I'm not gonna be cliché. I guess… I guess you know you love someone when you're always happy to see them, and you feel better around them? And you miss them when they're gone, and, uh… On top of everything, it's like, you just _know_ when you love someone, right? You just wake up one day and realize, hey, I love this person. Whether it's a girl or a guy, a friend or a boyfriend." Rjorn wrung her hands. "Hope that answered your question."

"Y-Yes," Emily stammered. She was still processing this information, making sense out of it. "Yes…"

Rjorn pat her lap impatiently and stood. "Welp! Let's get back at it, aight? I dunno about you, but I'm having TONS of fun out there."

Emily smiled.

* * *

 _October 9th:_

 _It's… not the same._

 _I like everyone. Certainly, they are all very kind people. Though the Elder does watch me uncomfortably closely—all for my well-being, I'm certain he thinks—I am not unhappy here, nor will I make another attempt on my own life as things are now._

 _But this island isn't Valm Harbor, the Elder is not John, and Rjorn is not Nina. Though I try to keep my spirits up, to enjoy the blessings of this village, I am constantly unsatisfied. An itch… an itch, in the back of my mind, that tells me this isn't my home…_

 _But what can I do? What? WHAT? I constantly feel the pain of all the lives given for me, but I can do nothing about it! There is no cure for this restlessness. All I can do is wait, and judge, and see if, in the end, I had made the right decision back on the pirate ship._

 _Though I doubt I will ever have that courage again._

* * *

 _October 14th:_

 _The village is keeping a secret. I don't know what it is, and honestly, I doubt if it is any of my business._

 _But the villagers treat me differently than anyone else I've ever encountered. They don't even treat each other with the same amount of selflessness. I don't understand._

 _They know I am a permanent resident here; I've been here for a week. (Longer, in fact, since I was apparently comatose for two days more.) It would help me acclimate if they treated me normally… but their generosity persists. I have, on occasion, tested them, intentionally making a mistake that would get another villager laughed at or scolded, yet I am pat on the head and sent on my way instead. This sort of treatment is beyond hospitable, and has ventured into irksome. The biggest step any of them have made in avoiding this behavior is that Rjorn dropped the 'Miss' from my name._

 _Also of note: Rjorn has escalated my training to higher-level tomes. Arcfires are considerably more difficult to use than Elfires, and I finally have something to work towards. Something to keep my mind off of… everything else._

 _By sheer luck, I was able to coax a single use out of Arcfire, and while I was pleased, Rjorn was hyper-ecstatic, such that she mispronounced my name when congratulating me. She quickly corrected herself, seeming scared, for some reason, just for making a small mispronunciation! Such a sweet girl; I assured her it was all right. Most importantly, however, is that I've been studying the tome, trying to replicate what I did, so I can use it better. I'd better get back at it, I suppose._

* * *

 _October 28th_

Emily broke the silence. "Rjorn," Emily whispered, closing Arcfire. She was careful to dampen its noise; at this hour, much of the village was asleep, and the single lamp lighting this room made a cozy, quiet atmosphere that she was hesitant to break.

More aptly, she was hesitant to break Rjorn's tranquil nap; Rjorn sat in the chair across from Emily at the table, with her head lolled, her mouth slightly open, and one of her hands gently grasping her ruby talisman on her neck. Emily was amused by the sight, but continued anyway.

"Rjorn," Emily repeated, and Rjorn started, adjusting in her chair quickly as she came to her senses.

"You're… doin' great," Rjorn mumbled, rubbing her eye. "I think we should… take a break, or somethin'…"

Emily smiled. "Rjorn… I have a personal question."

Rjorn continued rubbing her eyes for a few seconds, then lowered her hands, looking at Emily with her sleep-reddened eyes and smiling tiredly. "I'm all ears."

"Do you have family…?"

"What? Yeah, course I do," Rjorn said, genuinely surprised. "I haven't told you about my parents?"

"No…"

Rjorn sat up straighter, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the table comfortably. "Can't believe it. You probably know them already, this village is so small, but I can't believe it never came up that they're related. Well, anyway, yeah, I've got a mom, a dad, and a little sister on the way."

"On the way…?"

"I-I mean, my mom's, uh, pregnant," Rjorn said, rubbing the back of her head nervously.

"Oh!" Belly Lady was actually pregnant. Emily made a mental note to stop calling Rjorn's mother 'Belly Lady' in her journal entries.

Rjorn continued, "I don't actually know if it's gonna be a sister, but I hope so. I especially hope she turns out to be a mage, too! That'd be great. I'm getting my practice on you, then on to teaching my sister, aight? Guess I've got a few more months to wait for that, though."

Emily smiled. "Okay." She looked down at the Arcfire, absently staring at its cover. "Rjorn… do you know… what you want to do? With your life, I mean…"

Rjorn's face fell slightly. "To be honest… no, not really. I wouldn't mind finding a husband someday, and live as a wife and mother, but… I feel like I should shoot higher, right? Like I should… do something more meaningful. You know? Something that's like, 'Rjorn did this! This is Rjorn's mark on the world!'"

Emily nodded. "I feel the same way… but how will we get to _there_ …" She gestured around the room, indicating the entire village—"from _here_?"

Rjorn winked. "Have some optimism, Emily! All good things—"

"—Must come to an end?"

Rjorn pouted. "All good things _come to those who wait!_ Jeez, what a downer."

* * *

 _November 11th_

As soon as she awoke, Emily knew something was off. Rjorn wasn't in her bed, and Emily could hear noise outside her home. Noise! Noise _never_ happened here.

Emily hastily dressed herself (mentally thanking Rjorn for the green mage clothing) and made her way outside, cautious.

She blinked, surprised beyond words at the sight. Three great behemoths of creatures loomed in the center of the village, most of the villagers gathered around them curiously.

Emily furrowed her eyebrows, still watching the creatures, and made her way toward the crowd.

As she neared, and caught the anxious glances of the other villagers, her heart began to sink into dread.

 _This atmosphere…_

Emily looked around, her complexion draining.

 _I've felt this before… No, no, no…_

Emily nudged her way through the crowd, eventually finding herself near the front. She peered over a man's shoulder and tried to push her way through, but the man was stubborn in keeping his place. It almost seemed as though he were intentionally blocking Emily.

Emily huffed impatiently and tried to see what she could from her vantage point.

The three enormous monsters' black wings rustled impatiently. Their eyes glowed red, and their maws gaped open, revealing dozens of sharp fangs. Emily noticed saddles on their scaly backs—these things were mounts!

She soon found each creature's rider standing before the beasts. Two wore obscuring cowls, but the center rider let his face be known, wearing a smug grin and watching the gathering before him with cruel, gray eyes. A round, metal hat adorned his head, emblazoned with an unfamiliar insignia.

The situation brought a painful sense of despair up through Emily's stomach. She held her arms tight around her abdomen, liable to vomit from the stress.

The lead rider cleared his throat loudly. "What a crowd!" he cackled; his voice had a weaseling tone, but the malice behind it made it no less threatening. "Look at the audience that gathers when the servants of Grima come a-knocking!"

"Grimleal!"

Emily glanced over her shoulder, finding the sharply whispered word coming from Rjorn.

"Emily?!" Rjorn hissed under her breath, and gripped Emily's shoulder firmly. The look in her eyes was dire. "Go home! No—go to my parents' house, they'll both be there! You can't be out here right now!"

Emily brushed Rjorn's hand away, frowning adamantly. "What's going on?" Emily whispered.

"Grimleal wyvern riders," Rjorn whispered. "But I could've stopped at Grimleal. They're bad news, no doubt about it. You're in danger as long as you're out here!"

 _"I_ am…?"

Rjorn blinked. _"We_ are, I mean." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Alright, fine, you can stay, but stay near me, okay?" She gave Emily a confident smile, to bolster both their spirits.

Emily nodded, and Rjorn edged forward to stand next to Emily. Both girls peered around the crowd to watch the transpiring events.

The Elder stepped forward to meet the three newcomers. "Welcome to our village," he said warily. "What brings Grimleal to this remote island?"

"Grima is _everywhere,"_ the leader said, his eyes widening insanely as he emphasized the last word. "All things unto Him! I am Ardri, His humble servant." He shot glances to each of his cohorts, and they both moved to stand next to him.

"What's Grima?" Emily asked.

"I'll explain later," Rjorn breathed absently, watching the goings-on with fear.

The lead Grimleal, Ardri, spoke again. "So, are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?"

The Elder frowned. "I don't follow, sir."

"Grima's gathering power," Ardri hissed, smirking. "He has awakened! His dragon form hovers over the ocean, absorbing more and more power from the Grimleal throwing their lives unto Him, and soon, He shall be able to wreak His unholy havoc upon the world for the first time in a thousand years."

Concerned murmurs from the crowd made it difficult for Emily to hear.

"Y-You jest, surely?" the Elder said. His face had lost a hue. "Grima has been resurrected?"

"Kekekeh, if I was a jesting man, I wouldn't be here," Ardri said, growling a menacing laugh. "You see, there aren't enough Grimleal to satisfy Grima's lust for power. He needs _more._ And more, I shall give Him." He raised a hand. "A sacrifice! Every week, we will take one of your women as a sacrifice to our god, Grima!"

The crowd shifted further, fear beginning to take root.

The Elder pounded his cane into the dirt once. "I cannot allow that," he said firmly. "We are a peaceful people, and you may not come here to ruin what we have strived for for generations."

"The hard way it is!" Ardri cackled, and he gestured to his men. They both drew large, silver axes, wielding them menacingly. "Who dies first?! Who dies before I get what I want?!"

Ardri's colorless eyes scanned the panic-frozen crowd, before they settled on his first victim.

Emily froze in horror, unable to break eye contact with Ardri.

"Her," Ardri rasped. "I want her, or you die." He faced the Elder, and both of his men turned their violent gaze on him as well.

Ardri stabbed at Emily with his finger. "She shall be our first sacrifice to Grima, unless you'd rather be one yourself!" he shouted at the Elder.

Rjorn's mouth opened slightly, her eyes wide from a realization.

The Elder's mouth was half-open, slowly forming the words to solidify his own sacrifice, before another voice interrupted him. The voice was loud in Emily's ears, startling her from her trance. Eyes from all directions—Grimleal and villager alike—turned toward the outcry.

"I'll do it!"

Rjorn pushed past Emily and stepped out of the crowd, facing the Grimleal.

"I'll be the sacrifice instead!"

Ardri, after overcoming his initial surprise, broke into a wide, toothy smile. "Kekekeh! So _noble!_ I _love_ it when they do that!" He gestured. "Fine, then! Get over here, girl!"

Emily slowly blinked, realizing what was going on. "R-Rjorn!" she cried, taking a step closer.

Rjorn stopped, and she turned to face Emily, smiling. She carried herself with the same confidence as ever. "Don't worry about it, Emily. Remember what we talked about last week? About serving a greater purpose?" Rjorn glanced aside for a moment, her smile slightly faltering. "I… I can't really explain to you why…" Her voice dropped low: "…In present company… But what I'm doing is definitely for the greater good. You'll understand soon enough, I'm sure…"

Rjorn shook her head, her smile returned, and she looked back at Emily. She tilted her head slightly at the tears forming in Emily's eyes. "Oh, come on…" She took slow steps closer, and for a moment, she held Emily, running her hand through Emily's blonde hair with motherly affection. "Shh," Rjorn murmured. "Don't cry…"

As Rjorn's arms held Emily in that comforting embrace, Emily couldn't help but wonder: had she heard those words before?

Rjorn pushed away, her arms falling to her sides, and she stepped back. She still wore that infuriatingly peaceful smile as she spoke her final words.

"This is it, Emily," Rjorn said, and saluted with two fingers. "See ya around."

Rjorn turned away from Emily and started walking toward her fate.

 _"Rjorn!"_ Emily had nothing else to say, and she felt several pairs of hands restrain her from chasing after her friend.

Not another one! Not another person sacrificing their life for Emily's! She wasn't worth it! She wasn't worth it!

"Rjorn!" Emily struggled against her restraints. "Rjorn! No! Please! NO!"

But Rjorn never looked back.

Her smile never died.

* * *

 _November 18th_

The Grimleal were back. Just as promised.

As Ardri descended from his wyvern, he wore Rjorn's ruby necklace in addition to his dark smirk. Emily wanted to throw up.

Ardri picked Emily out of the crowd again. "We have unfinished business from last time, girl!" he howled. "It's your turn!"

Resignedly, Emily took a step forward; but hands grasped her shoulders, stopping her again. She was absolutely stunned in surprise when another voice—a woman Emily hardly knew—volunteered instead, and Emily was left dumbfounded as the Grimleal flew off, another victim in hand.

It was nearly a full minute before Emily had gathered her wits enough to speak. Her mouth trembled as the watched the three black dots disappear to elsewhere on the island; she struggled to form her word.

Finally, slowly, piece-by-piece, but ending in an enormous, heart-piercing bellow:

 _"WHY?"_

Emily fell to her knees, still staring at the sky, as the hands all released her. "Why?! Why, Naga?! _Why must you do this to me?!_ What have I done… that I am forced to live… while everyone around me, _everyone I have ever loved,_ dies! Why? WHY?!"

The others tried to comfort her. They failed: if they had wanted to comfort her, they would stop robbing her of death.

She shook off their hands, stood, and stormed away, thinking a thousand curses she could not bring herself to speak to the villagers.

She slammed her door—the door to the home that had been hers, alone, for too long—and did not come out for a week.

* * *

 _November 20th:_

 _I want to run. I really do. I want to stop forcing these people to throw themselves away for a stranger's sake._

 _But I can't._

 _I'm terrified._

 _The thought that Rjorn is dead, and the other girl is dead, and if I go, I'll be dead, too, and then it won't end there, the Grimleal will never stop, and then the whole village will be dead… and then they move on to the next one, and…_

 _and…_

* * *

 _November 25th_

Ardri scanned the crowd, clearly searching for Emily. "Where are you, girl…?" he murmured to himself. His expression brightened. "Ah! There you are!" He pointed at Emily. "NOW it's your turn, at long last! Kekekeh!"

As expected, another girl's voice instantly popped out from the crowd: "I'll go instead!"

But Ardri raised a silencing hand, frowning curiously. "No," he hissed, and the hand returned to point at Emily again. "I want _her._ No substituting this time."

"You'll not have her." The Elder's expression was resolute. "You'll not lay a finger on her."

Emily's eyebrows furrowed. _What is going on?_

"Kekeh… You don't seem to have the same mentality with the other girls in your little village," Ardri sneered.

Then, slowly, Ardri's smirk died. What he had intended as a taunt actually contained truth.

Ardri looked at Emily, then at the Elder, then back at Emily. "Noooo," he muttered, his mouth forming something between shock and a grin. "No way… It couldn't be…"

Emily was still confused, but the Elder did not allow Ardri to explain himself. From the folds of his robes, the Elder drew an Arcwind tome, and he cast the magic, cutting down one of Ardri's subordinates.

Ardri and the remaining subordinate recoiled, and soon, the whole village was upon them; the two surprised Grimleal kept the villagers at bay with their weapons. They soon realized this was a fight they could not win, and they dashed for their wyverns.

The monstrous beasts flapped their wings, lifting from the ground; the third, riderless wyvern shrieked and flew away, quickly disappearing into the sky.

Ardri glared from over his mount's wing as the wyvern gained altitude. "We'll be back for you! Two days, I swear it! A legion of Grimleal will tear this damned island apart—just you watch!" He smirked down at Emily, his eyes wide and crazed. "We will finish you off, once and for all… _Exalt!"_

Emily flinched in realization…

 _The Risen's hand was wrapped around her head… its fist drawn back for a killing blow… it moaned, "EXALT!"_

The two wyverns turned away, flying into the distance. Emily felt a hand grab her forearm, which then dragged her away from the commotion.

* * *

Without any memory of the walk there, Emily found herself sitting across from the Elder at his dining table. The Elder's expression was grave, and his hands were clasped in front of his mouth anxiously.

After a moment, the Elder uncovered his mouth and spoke. "Miss Emily. Can you hear me?"

"Y… Yes," Emily murmured. She struggled to rein in her thoughts, now above all times.

"Good," the Elder said. "Two weeks ago, when Rjorn… when the Grimleal first arrived, I sent for help. For the only people that could save us."

"Wait, wait…" Emily murmured, grasping her head in her hands. "What… what is… why did… 'Exalt'?"

"That's a question for tomorrow," said the Elder. "Tomorrow, our saviors arrive. Our heroes."

A tiny smile made the Elder's mustache twitch. "Our miracle."

* * *

 _November 26th_

He sighed deeply, surveying the mountainous island. "Is this the right place?"

"Yep," his friend said, pointing at the map. "Took us a hell of a time finding this place, but here we are." He shrugged, grinning. "I mean, have _you_ ever heard of this island? Because even I haven't, and I read all the time."

"Pretty sure this place has to do with the legend of the Exalted King Alm," the first man said, shrugging.

The second man bobbed his head, surprised. "I'm impressed! How'd you learn that one?"

The first man shrugged, but he was grinning as well, somewhat proud of himself.

Then, he remembered the letter tucked away in his pocket, and his smile disappeared. "We're moving out. We're going to set up camp next to the village, ready to defend it should the Grimleal attack at any time."

His friend nodded seriously. "You got it. Let's start making plans." He started walking back toward the ship.

The first man took a breath, and he continued to watch the island for a moment longer.

He murmured to himself. "Grimleal… Well, this is nothing we haven't seen before, right?"

"Hey!" his friend called, teasingly. "You gonna join me, or are you gonna stare at the landscape all day, Chrom?"

Chrom rolled his eyes, back to reality. "Alright, Robin, I'm coming, I'm coming." He turned away from the island and followed Robin back to the ship.


	6. Part VI

**VI**

* * *

The Elder wrung his hands anxiously. Emily could sense the anticipation in the air, but she, herself, was numb.

She could barely bring herself to think. Everything was happening so fast. Heroes were incoming to save them from Grimleal who would call Emily names for reasons unknown—something like that? She found it all difficult to follow.

Even after two weeks, she still found herself unable to come to terms with Rjorn's death.

The events on the pirate ship—and for that matter, all of her life on Valm—felt like a dream from long ago.

Emily took a long breath. _Everything… needs… to slow down._ In, out; in, out. She shakily ran her hand through her hair; in her nervousness, she had had nothing to do that morning, and taught herself how to tie a ponytail to pass the time as she waited for these purported saviors to arrive. Though it was now late into the night of the twenty-sixth, the Elder had assured her that the heroes had already made landfall and were on their way.

Emily's eyes flicked aside, scanning the Elder's expression. Though his anxiety was clear, she could sense a certain amount of excitement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The Elder noticed he had caught Emily's gaze, and he shot her a reassuring smile. "They should be arriving soon, Miss Emily," he said amicably. "Worry not."

"I am still confused…" Emily murmured. "'Exalt…' I know that word… but… how…?"

"That'll be answered soon enough," the Elder said, beaming. "Just you wait." He returned to facing the door, wringing his hands.

Emily knew exactly where she had heard the word before: from a passage she had memorized from a book more than a year ago, and again from a salesman in Port Ferox. But what did it have to do with her? Why did the Entombed and the Grimleal both use that word on her?

She closed her eyes, performing more breathing repetitions. She had no other choice but to heed the Elder, it seemed; and if answers were forthcoming, she was happy to stay.

She sat in her tranquil repose for several minutes. Gradually, she felt the haste of the last few weeks disappearing into the air; perhaps, finally, her sleep would not be so restless tonight?

That remained to be seen. But, as peace grew in her, her head began to tip forward, and she slowly drifted to sleep in her chair.

* * *

Emily was wrenched back into consciousness from a light rapping at the door. The Elder, also asleep in his own chair, was similarly jerked awake, and was on his feet in an instant.

Emily sat forward in her chair, immediately alert, and strained to see the newcomer. The Elder's hand rested on the door handle as the Elder collected himself, and he shortly opened the door, allowing the guest in.

A young, blonde woman stepped into the Elder's living room, smiling courteously. A pink parasol—as pink as the rest of her wardrobe—was tucked under her arm, and she daintily offered her hand to the Elder, who shook it enthusiastically.

"Welcome, welcome," the Elder said, smiling. "I am so happy you could come."

"A pleasure to meet you," said the woman.

"Please, sit," continued the Elder, gesturing to a seat near Emily at the dining room table.

The woman sat, and the Elder followed suit; all three now sat quietly around the table, waiting for someone to speak.

The Elder broke the silence. "I take it you are of the Shepherds?"

"Yes," the woman said pleasantly. "I represent the Shepherds in lieu of Lord Chrom."

The Elder's face fell. "I had hoped he and I could speak in person."

"I understand. However, he found it more prudent to discuss strategy with our tactician while I deal with the… verbal matters at hand. It is purely a time-saving device, I assure you—Chrom bears no ill intent. If it comes to that, however, our camp is hardly a twenty minute walk from here, and shorter by horse." The woman delicately touched her collarbone. "My name is Maribelle. Worry not: I am his wife, so speaking to me is equal to speaking with him."

Emily had not yet introduced herself, and felt rude as such; but Maribelle had not yet sent even a glance in Emily's direction, maintaining polite eye contact with the Elder instead, giving Emily no opportunity to do so.

Fortunately, the Elder did the work for Emily. "I understand completely. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maribelle. This girl here is my ward; please, introduce yourself."

The Elder gestured aside at Emily, and Maribelle finally acknowledged her. Maribelle smiled politely, and as before, offered her hand, which Emily shook.

"M-My name… is Emily," Emily said slowly. "It's… a pleasure…"

Maribelle's eyebrows furrowed, but only slightly. There was a small measure of hesitation in her voice when she replied. "The pleasure is all mine," she said, not losing her polite tone.

Emily was reminded of her first encounter with Rjorn. Though Maribelle's expression seemed more confused than pitying, Emily could not help but think that this was the same; after all, Maribelle's reaction could only be tied to Emily's manner of speech, could it not? Therefore, Emily soured slightly, already regretting this new encounter.

After a moment, Maribelle blinked rapidly, realizing she was staring at Emily, and turned back to the Elder. "So," she said. Her polite smile reappeared. "Is there any information we should know while defending the village?"

The Elder turned serious. "Many of the Grimleal are flyers: dragon riders in particular. They possess massive wyverns the likes of which I have never seen."

Maribelle nodded gravely. "Yes, we have encountered the same. As Grima gains power, so too do his subjects."

The Elder paled. "So… it is true? Grima has returned?"

Maribelle solemnly cast her eyes downward. "Yes… The Fell Dragon is currently gathering strength, but Naga holds him in place. It will take some time, possibly months, before Grima can break free, and by then, we hope to be ready to defeat him."

"So the Shepherds alone have adopted this monumental task?" said the Elder. "Miss Maribelle… What an enormous burden. You are truly the grandest of heroes, the likes of which even the Hero-King would praise."

Maribelle smiled. "Your words are too kind, Elder. This has always been the undertaking of Ylisse: with the Falchion and the Fire Emblem, we are the only ones for the task."

"Ylisse?" Emily asked suddenly, her poor mood descending yet further.

"Yes," said Maribelle, tilting her head. "We are the Shepherds. Have you not heard of us?"

Emily's eyes were downcast, and she thought of the merchant in Port Ferox. "In… so many words…"

Maribelle slowly frowned. "…Please excuse my forwardness, Miss Emily, but… have we met before?"

"Hm?" Emily looked up, meeting Maribelle's eyes. "I don't…" But she paused. Now that she thought about it… "Possibly…? I don't… remember…"

Maribelle tilted her head the other way, chuckling lightly. "Quite probably, you simply resemble someone I've met—it's on the tip of my tongue, I tell you."

Emily frowned. "I… have never visited Ylisse… I wouldn't know…"

The Elder was noticeably silent.

Maribelle squinted. "No… I know it. I'm certain you look like… someone… but… Ah!" She snapped her fingers, smiling confidently. "I know! You look just like—"

Then Maribelle hesitated, her smile faltering. "…No… it's truly uncanny… the eyes, even, and the hair color…"

She reached a hand toward Emily, as though to touch her; but she then realized what she was doing, and retracted her hand. "Excuse me, I was… Ahem. Miss Emily… Would you mind if I touched your hair?"

"M-My hair?" One of Emily's hands defensively moved to her ponytail. "I… er…" She dropped her hand. "I suppose so…"

Maribelle stood from her seat and approached Emily. Emily stood as well, still uncertain of Maribelle's intentions, and more than a little uneasy knowing Maribelle's status as an Ylissean; but Emily trusted the Elder, and the Elder trusted Maribelle, so…

When Maribelle stopped in front of Emily, Emily caught a rosy scent wafting from her, and had a brief… a brief moment of… recollection… the likes of which she had only experienced once before. Not even an image this time, but… a feeling…

Maribelle took a slight breath. She almost felt foolish, doing what she was about to do; but this curiosity was insatiable. She slowly raised her hands up to Emily's forehead, pausing in front of Emily's blond bangs.

Emily resisted the urge to flinch. The last time any hands had been this close to her was—a time she never allowed herself to remember—

Maribelle held her breath, and moved her fingers. They brushed aside Emily's bangs.

Maribelle let her breath go, her eyes wide with shock. "G-Gods…! Oh, gods! It's not—It's simply not possible!"

Maribelle's hands fell quickly, and this time, Emily recoiled, her hands rising in defense as she backed away from Maribelle.

"Wh-What is the m-meaning of…" Emily murmured breathlessly, fear in her eyes.

Maribelle took a half-step closer: "Wait, wait, I—!"

But Maribelle paused, realizing she was too overcome to speak. She took slow breaths, forcing herself to calm down before attempting conversation again.

Emily took the opportunity to calm down, herself. What was this all about? What did any of this have to do with—?

Maribelle interrupted Emily's thoughts. "I apologize. I was much too aggressive with you. I work _far_ too hard to maintain my noble bearing to lose it so quickly." She paused, carefully picking her words. "Madam… This may come as a shock to you, but: I know you."

"Are you certain…?" Emily asked, straining to think. "I don't remember…"

Maribelle grimaced. "I… I can see that, and… considering the circumstances… I suppose I can understand why, if not how. But that is a question for another time. Miss Emily, I have something very important to tell you. Please, take a seat." She gestured.

Emily glanced down at the chair, and slowly followed Maribelle's direction. Maribelle sat as well, in a seat across from Emily. Maribelle firmly met Emily's eye; her stare was intense, and contained a strange combination of pity and excitement.

"Madam… To start… Your true name is not Emily. Do you know that?"

Emily nodded hesitantly.

Maribelle nodded as well, satisfied. She continued: "Two years ago, I, and most of my companions, knew you; but, to further a noble cause, you willingly allowed yourself to die—or so we all thought… but…" Maribelle paused again. On close inspection, Emily could see tears brewing in Maribelle's eyes. "…But you are alive… Emmeryn… After all this time, you…"

The Elder's hands clasped together. He wore a content smile.

"Emmeryn," Maribelle said. A tear ran down her cheek, and she wore a wide, happy smile as she began to tremble. "Y-Your name is Emmeryn… and… oh… oh, gods, I…" Maribelle fumbled for a handkerchief, dabbing at her eye. "I apologize for my…"

But Maribelle found arms encompassing her, with her head pressed into the other girl's shoulder.

"Don't… cry…" the other whispered.

Every instinct had sprung in the girl to comfort Maribelle… in spite of everything, in spite of how much she, herself, wanted to cry, she could not. Not while others were there who needed her.

"Emmeryn." The Girl, Lass, Emily, tasted the word on her tongue.

It tasted like memory.

Fragments, but… there were feelings, emotions to that name… things she truly knew, as though they were reality…

"Emmeryn…" Maribelle whispered, surprised. She slowly extricated herself from the embrace. "I cannot… believe… I can't… that you're…? That…"

Maribelle shook herself awake. "I-I must tell the others! I must tell Chrom!" Maribelle quickly stood, nodding at the Elder. "I shall return in a half-hour!" she proclaimed, and she was swiftly out the door.

Emmeryn's heart pounded in her ears for a long moment, her mouth half-open as she gasped for breath. She looked at the Elder. "Am… I… dreaming?"

"No, no," the Elder said, chuckling. "Gods, this moment is sweeter than I predicted…"

"W… Wh…" Emily shook her head, uncomprehending. "You, you… knew?"

"I highly suspected," said the Elder. "When you arrived, Rjorn read your journal, and from those clues—as well as that one on your forehead—we deduced your identity, Lady Emmeryn." The Elder inclined his head deeply, with utmost respect. " _Exalt_ Emmeryn."

 _Exalt…_

Emily—Emmeryn—began to hyperventilate. "I—no, I—but—Why? Why didn't you tell me…?"

The Elder lifted his head, meeting Emmeryn's eye. "Our island is, or was, a safe, isolated place, and a nurturing environment. I kept you here to allow you to recover both physically and mentally. I had even hoped to recover your memories, but… circumstances have changed." He smiled paternally. "Now, you would be best suited to return to Lord Chrom."

Emily's breathing gradually slowed to a more measured rhythm. The Elder let her be, and patiently waited for Maribelle's return.

* * *

Maribelle entered first, and was soon followed by two men: one with blue hair, one with silver.

As they entered, their mouths hung open, their eyes wide and disbelieving. The silver-haired man attempted to form words, but his throat would not respond.

"Exalt Chrom, it is truly a pleasure," the Elder said, offering his hand; the blue-haired man absently shook it, murmuring a response in kind. Chrom's eyes did not leave Emily.

Emily felt cowed; all eyes were on her, and she had to resist a strong urge to flee into the shadows.

Chrom took a step closer, disbelieving. "I couldn't believe it when Maribelle told me…" He placed a hand on Emily's cheek. "It… really is you, isn't it, Emmeryn?"

 _Right: Emmeryn…_

She, Emmeryn, gently turned her cheek away, and Chrom dropped his hand.

Chrom's face… Emmeryn could not tell if she truly felt lingering feelings from before, or if they were manufactured by the emotions of the moment, but she could not deny that the look in Chrom's eyes was nearly enough to push her to the brink of tears.

The silver-haired man chimed in, equally breathless. "I still can't believe what I'm seeing… After all this time, you're alive? But how…?"

Maribelle patted him on the shoulder, practically shivering with glee herself. "Let's… not interrupt their moment, Robin. You've spent _enough_ time with Chrom tonight."

Robin flushed red, looking away. "Gods, Maribelle, enough already…"

Maribelle responded with a giggle.

"How did this happen?" Chrom asked intensely. "Emm! How did you get here?"

"I… ah…"

The Elder interrupted, catching Chrom's attention by clearing his throat. "Lord Chrom, I know not the circumstances, but somehow, Lady Emmeryn suffered a tragic accident that impaired her memories and her ability to speak."

Chrom glanced aside at Maribelle, who nodded to confirm the Elder's statement. Chrom then faced Emmeryn. "Emm?" He smiled slightly, nervously. "Emm, do you remember me?" He placed a hand on his breastplate. "It's me: Chrom."

Emmeryn sniffed; she edged away from Chrom, tears brewing in her eyes.

Chrom's face fell. "So… that's a no, then."

"She has suffered through much hardship in her years absent," the Elder said solemnly. "Extreme hardship, the likes of which no one must be forced to endure… It's nothing short of a miracle that she has made it here today."

"Sounds like a hard miracle to me," said Robin. "Well—she's safe with us for now. We'll figure everything out after we fight off those Grimleal." He glanced at his leader. "Agreed, Chrom?"

Chrom hesitated for a moment as he returned to reality. As late in the night as it was, the whole situation was incredibly surreal. "Y-Yeah." He forced an anxious smile for Emmeryn, and he offered a welcoming hand. "Emmeryn… will you return to camp with us? All of the Shepherds are there… so many faces who will love to see you. After so long, we'll finally be a whole family again."

 _Family._

Emmeryn had heard that word many times since she had awoken in the desert. Each time, an electrifying thrill had run down her spine. Whether it was mere mention of another's family, like Martin the merchant's, or promises of a family of her own, like with the pirates or John, she had felt anticipatory glee at the sound of the word. _Family_ meant the future, meant love, meant companionship.

This time, an entirely different shiver trailed down her spine. It was dread.

Family no longer meant the future. It meant repeating the past. It no longer meant love, it meant loss; no longer meant companionship, meant loneliness. Time had taught her that much.

Family was warm, and cozy, and happy, but it was impermanent. And the joy she felt in those times of companionship only magnified the rending pain of the inevitable loss…

The room was still for a very long moment. The three Shepherds watched with mounting anxiety as Emmeryn passively refused Chrom's hand.

Finally, defeated, Chrom dropped his arm. Emmeryn felt guilt for her rejection of his kindness, but did not let it show.

"I-I understand. This is a lot to take in, I suppose… maybe you should stay here tonight, with people you… remember." Chrom took a breath, composing himself. To his Shepherds: "Let's go."

"Chrom…" Robin murmured. "Are you sure?"

Chrom hesitated, answering Robin's question. But Chrom denied doubt anyway: "Yes. We've a battle tomorrow, and we need sleep. You in particular, Robin."

"This again…"

Emmeryn watched the three Shepherds file out the door. Without missing a beat, she turned to the Elder. "Sir… I must sleep as well… Good night…"

"Good night, dear," the Elder replied. "Sleep well! Tomorrow is an important day." He beamed.

* * *

Robin glanced aside at Chrom as they walked. "Chrom, you're trembling."

"I am?" Chrom took a shaky breath, drawing his cloak over him. "I feel a chill, and not just in the air… I've never felt like this before."

"That sounds more like anxiety than excitement," noted Maribelle. "Do you feel well?"

"I don't," Chrom admitted. "I really don't. …Well, I don't really know _how_ I feel, to be honest. It's—it's _Emmeryn,_ for gods' sake! I should be elated!"

"But… you're scared?" Robin ventured. "Scared of…"

"…Losing her again," Maribelle finished slowly.

"That won't happen." Chrom looked at each of them, a fiery determination in his eye. "The gods have seen fit to give me—to give _us—_ a second chance. And dammit, I'll do whatever it takes, but I swear we will not lose her again."

Maribelle's hands clasped over her mouth, hiding a grin as a jolt shot through her spine at his words. "W-Well said, dear." She hastily looked away, blushing intensely.

Chrom and Robin didn't notice. "You're right," Robin said seriously, placing a hand on Chrom's shoulder. "I swear on my life I won't fail again, Chrom. Tomorrow, we protect Emmeryn, and we bring her home."

"Right," said Chrom confidently.

"Hands off," Maribelle play-scolded, smiling slightly. "Need I remind you again?"

Robin and Chrom quickly separated, both flushing red. "Honestly, Maribelle," Chrom muttered, "could you stop teasing us about that?"

Maribelle giggled.

* * *

 _November 27th_

Emmeryn dragged herself out of bed. Her eyelids were lead, but she forced them open anyways. She had a big day to prepare for.

* * *

"Chrom, you're trembling again."

"S-Sorry," said Chrom. He was especially antsy as he and Robin walked. "I'm excited. I've never been so…" He trailed off.

Robin nodded, smiling. "Me too. I feel, like… a buzz in the back of my head. It's like—"

"Alcohol," they both said at once, and laughed.

Robin shook his head disbelievingly. "Man… I can't wait to tell the others. They'll freak out."

"Heh. They sure will."

Chrom glanced up at the morning sun, which colored everything a bright hue.

"It's a beautiful day for this," he murmured. "A perfect one."

* * *

After getting dressed, Emmeryn dug through one of Rjorn's drawers. She searched for a particular item she had seen Rjorn use before.

At last, she found it, and pulled it from the depths of the drawer. She inspected the small item curiously.

"Mirror," she murmured. She watched her own reflection, surprised at her own appearance. _I've never used one, to be honest. This is how people see me? …I hope they are impressed._

She shook her head. _That is not the point._ She brushed her bangs aside, interested in seeing what all this excitement was about.

* * *

The Elder smiled widely, his hands clasped behind his back, as he met Chrom and Robin outside Emmeryn's door.

"Good morning, Elder," said Chrom pleasantly.

"To you two as well," said the Elder. "I am pleased you found milady's home without issue."

"Of course. Your directions were quite clear." Chrom took a breath.

He stared at the door for a moment.

Robin's eyebrows furrowed. "…Well?" He gestured at the door.

Chrom swallowed deeply, approached the door, and briskly rapped on it with the back of his hand.

* * *

Emmeryn's breath was taken away. Such an ornate emblem on her forehead… and she had never known of it. Neither had anyone mentioned it… Even John had never—

Her eyes narrowed. Yes, John _had_ noticed it, in his final moments… did he know? Is that why he had wanted her to join the Resistance—so she could meet Ylisse? Is that why he sacrif—

 _I cannot think of this right now!_

She threw the mirror back into the drawer, irritably slammed it shut, and faced the door.

* * *

"She's sure taking her time," Robin noted.

"I've noticed," Chrom said, who had taken to nervously wringing his hands in between knocks. "Is this normal, Elder?"

The Elder's face had fallen considerably. "N-No, milord… she is usually quite punctual."

"That's disconcerting," said Robin.

The clench in Chrom's jaw revealed his anxiety. Robin also winced, realizing that that was the expression Chrom usually made before taking action.

"Fine," Chrom said tersely, and stepped away from the door. He faced the door, and Robin moved aside, dragging the Elder with him.

Chrom charged the door shoulder-pauldron first. The wooden door slammed open, splintering slightly from the impact.

Chrom panted for breath, his eyes adjusting from the sunlight to the dim, one-room house. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning for Emmeryn.

* * *

Emmeryn's hand rested on the doorknob; she steeled herself for what needed to be done.

 _I cannot lose another family_. _Nor can I allow this village to suffer any longer._

 _I've finally worked up the courage again: the courage to face my own death. I walk now to meet the Grimleal, to face the fate destiny has prescribed for me. They will get what they want… and no one else will have to die for me. Chrom: thank you for your kind invitation, but I must respectfully decline. Your assistance is no longer necessary._

Emmeryn tightly squeezed Rjorn's Arcfire tome, which lay hidden in Emmeryn's robes.

 _I questioned, once, if John had done the right thing by killing Sirus—even after what Sirus did, I would not have wished death on him._

 _I was wrong._

 _Not all people deserve life. When one has committed acts as heinous as those of Sirus or Ardri, they may no longer call themselves human._

Her hand fell away from Arcfire.

 _Though I walk now to my death, I will take Ardri with me. A more than worthy trade._

She chuckled humorlessly to herself. _Hopefully I learn how to use Arcfire before then._

Emmeryn stepped outside into the cool, night air. She glanced up at the moon—it would be a few hours before Chrom would arrive. Plenty of time.

She walked away, wrapping her cloak tightly around her as she disappeared into the night.

* * *

"Empty," Robin murmured, confirming the fact for himself as he searched the room.

"'Hopefully I learn how to use Arcfire before then…' Signed, The Girl, Lass, Emily, and Emmeryn." Chrom dropped the note and faced the Elder. "Who are John and Sirus?"

"I-I do not know," stuttered the Elder, who seemed on the verge of panic.

"Well, it doesn't matter!" Chrom impatiently brushed past Robin and the Elder, leaving the house. "We know where she's going! C'mon, Robin—we're going to stop her!"

"Right!"

* * *

Emmeryn panted for breath as she scaled the rocky landscape. This island was heavily mountainous outside of the village, as she was now learning, and the tough terrain, combined with the aggressive sun and her lack of athleticism, made movement slow and treacherous.

A loud shriek from above caught her attention. She shielded her eyes with her hand, looking upward into the bright sky.

A dozen wyverns circled overhead, seemingly the size of birds from this distance.

Emmeryn glared up at the beasts. _Almost there,_ she thought, and her determination doubled as she resumed her trek through the barren wilderness.

* * *

"Chrom!" Robin pointed at the northern horizon. "It's them!"

"Of all times for them to attack!" Chrom snarled as he continued to run. "What now?"

"The Shepherds have all been briefed," Robin panted. "They know what to do when the fight starts."

"Good," said Chrom. "Does it cause any wrinkles in the plan that we're out here instead of in the fight?"

"Not if we save Emmeryn quick enough," Robin replied. "So we should probably pick up the pace!"

"Don't need to tell me twice!"

* * *

"Nngh!"

Emmeryn stumbled over the rock, falling to a knee. She was gasping for air, and now that she had stopped for a moment, the pain of all her labor began to catch up to her. Her legs and head ached, and her ears rang from the exertion.

She shook her head clear, overpowering her weakness, and continued to run.

She didn't get much farther before a massive form slammed into the ground a few yards ahead; the miniature quake as well as her surprise caused her to trip again, landing on her back. The back of her head collided with a rock, and her vision blurred as she gasped in pain, too breathless to cry out.

Slowly, Emmeryn sat up, trying to glare at the black Grimleal wyvern before her. "A… Ardri," she breathed.

Ardri peered down at Emmeryn from atop his mount. He raised an eyebrow as a malicious smile grew on his face. "Well, well," he sneered. "If it isn't the dead Exalt herself! Cute ponytail. Kekekeh!"

Emmeryn forced herself to stand, though she felt dizzy from the head wound, and her legs wobbled unfaithfully. Only her resolve kept her standing. "I'm… here," Emmeryn said, injecting as much venom as she could into her words. "It's me… Emmeryn."

Ardri threw his head back in laughter. Rjorn's ruby talisman jingled from his neck as he moved. "More nobility? I've said it before and I'll say it again: I just _love_ volunteers! Get over here, girl: you'll make a tasty prize for Grima to devour!"

Emmeryn wheezed with each pained breath. She reined in her thoughts as best she could: if she was ever going to speak her mind, now was the best time for it. "Ardri… you… are evil," she panted. "You… are… refuse… And I can never… forgive you…"

Emmeryn reached into her robes, producing Rjorn's Arcfire tome. Ardri raised an eyebrow curiously.

"I will still die… but you… will… too!"

Emmeryn clutched Arcfire tightly, determination welling in her. She gritted her teeth as she concentrated on the incantation.

"Ohoho… that's cute," Ardri cooed. "That's really cute. But there's something you don't really understand, here…"

Emmeryn released her breath in awe as golden runes formed around her. Without missing another beat, she leveled her palm at Ardri and successfully let loose a bellow of Arcfire.

The flames swiftly encroached on Ardri and his mount, before encompassing both.

Emmeryn yelled loudly, pressing every ounce of her hate into the stream of fire for as long as she could. It wasn't long before her fingers twitched out of position, halting the Arcfire, and she fell to a knee, winded by her battle cry.

She heaved with useless wheezes, unable to curb her breathlessness. She looked down at her hands, four of which seemed to dance before her eyes, and she swayed from side to side, nearly delirious from fatigue.

A shrill, deafening cackle snapped her to attention, and dread settled in her stomach.

"No," she whispered. "No… no, no…"

Ardri flicked aside a lingering flame on his sleeve, and dismounted from the wyvern. Neither beast nor man seemed harmed by Emmeryn's fire: not even a singed hair…

"Kekekeh!" Ardri tilted his head, his eyes as wide as his smirk. "You idiot! I'm not a wyvern rider: I'm a Sorcerer, a magical servant of Grima! Your magic will do nothing to me!" He reached into his robes and plucked a purple tome from within. He whistled at his wyvern, ordering it to fly away, before he turned back to Emmeryn. "You remind me a lot of the red girl, you know," Ardri sneered. "She was full of fire, too! …Though that was more metaphorical. Doesn't matter, of course—for all her words, she died, same as anyone else. Her life force flows with Grima's now!" Ardri closed his eyes, shivering. "Oh, how I envy her! But I must wait until the end, myself."

"You… b-bastard…" Emmeryn panted.

"Oh! Oh!" Ardri clutched his heart, mock-wounded. "What a profound statement, Your Holiness! Your best one since… let me think… 'Free yourselves from this hatred, from this cycle of pain and vengeance,' was it? What a change! Kekekeh… Well…"

Now, mere paces from Emmeryn, Ardri stopped and leveled his palm with the exalted forehead. "'I've never seen one fall so gracefully.' Heheh!"

Emmeryn glared up at Ardri, defiant to the end.

Ardri's grin faltered, and his hand relaxed somewhat. "Alright," he said, louder than Emmeryn expected. "Alright, I see you." His eyes flicked upward to look behind Emmeryn. "Come on out!"

Emmeryn hesitantly looked over her shoulder, dreading what she might find. Her worst fear came true when Chrom and Robin stepped out from behind a boulder, both brandishing weapons.

Ardri flexed his magical arm again, and his palm crackled with purple energy inches from Emmeryn's Brand. Ardri's psychotic smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Hot damn! Chrom himself! Oh, I am gonna have a _field_ day here."

Emmeryn shivered with fear. A tear ran down her cheek as she watched two more strangers willing to die for her. "P-Please," she whispered, too weakly to be heard.

Chrom's jaw was set determinedly. "Ardri, was it? I don't take it you're a reasonable man, given your faith. However, I'm going to give you three seconds to release Emmeryn, or you are _not_ going to have a fun time."

"Oh yeah?!" Ardri grasped Emmeryn's hair, painfully turning her back to face him. His hand still sizzled with magic; Emmeryn whimpered in quiet despair. "She's _back,_ didn't you know? Kekekeh! After all this time, your dear sister has returned from the dead!"

Emmeryn's eyes widened. _S-Sister?!_

Ardri shook her out of it with another tug at her hair. He foamed slightly at the mouth as he hissed his words: "And _I'm_ going to be the one to put her back where she came from!"

"All I needed to hear," Robin muttered, and took a swift step forward, leveling a swift Thunder blast at Ardri.

The magic staggered Ardri, and, clutching his gut, he released Emmeryn. Emmeryn hastily scampered away from the Grimleal and toward Robin and Chrom, who rushed forward as she did so.

Each Shepherd took Emmeryn by an arm, helping her to her feet. Robin placed some sort of concoction in her hands, with directions to "drink up." She followed the command.

"What happened to 'three seconds'?" Chrom teased.

"Like you wanted to wait," Robin rebutted with a grin. "Hey, Emmeryn, are you feeling better?"

She blinked rapidly. The drink tasted like a vulnerary, but much more powerful. "Y-Yes."

"Good."

Immediately, both sets of hands released her. She was momentarily surprised to be standing on her own.

Robin placed a hand on her shoulder, getting her attention. "Alright, milady, listen to me."

She nodded.

Robin nodded as well, satisfied she could hear. He jabbed a thumb forward, indicating Ardri. "We're not done yet." Emmeryn followed his point and could see more Grimleal—wyverns, soldiers, and mages alike—filing forward to protect their commander. "We're going to need your help to deal with these guys, okay? Stay behind me and Chrom, and put that tome to good use." Robin flashed her a confident smile and clapped her on the shoulder once. "We're counting on you!"

Then Robin released her, and he immediately joined Chrom in the fray.

Emmeryn was stunned. _So… casual. Like he has every confidence in… And… 'Need my help?'_

The last words reminded of her of her situation, waking her. She followed Robin, who, with Chrom, was already efficiently holding the line against the Grimleal onslaught.

Emmeryn lagged behind the Shepherds, who both seemed to outclass all around them in every way. The Grimleal fell to Robin and Chrom's peerless teamwork, and Emmeryn found herself unable to hone in on a target before it would fall to the pair of Ylissean swords.

Nonetheless, she mustered up her courage and tried anyway. She expended burst after burst of Arcfire into the crowd of Grimleal: anything she could to ease the burden on Chrom and Robin.

Robin glanced aside at Chrom: "It's mostly ranged guys remaining!"

"Got it—I'm going right!"

The two Shepherds darted in opposite directions, leaving a dumbfounded Emmeryn alone and without instructions.

She blinked, looking to either side. She couldn't stay on her own, she knew: but who to follow?

Emmeryn's eyes lingered on Robin.

 _'We're counting on you.'_

She clutched Arcfire to her side and dashed after him.

Emmeryn was halfway there when a motion out of the corner of her eye distracted her. She reflexively twisted to the side and fell to dodge the bolt of dark magic.

She slowly stood to face the masked Grimleal, holding her hip she had bruised from the fall. The Grimleal raised its hand again, and Emmeryn sidestepped the spell before gathering her bearings.

She raised her tome and fired. The Grimleal recoiled, covering its head with its arms to protect itself from the flames. When the initial wave subsided, it shot more magic outward—though Emmeryn noted it was now crouching, wary, knowing that Emmeryn posed an actual threat.

Emmeryn dodged the bolt, confidence welling in her. _An actual threat._ She grinned, leveling another Arcfire at the Grimleal—

But another bolt came from the side, striking Emmeryn in the shoulder and throwing her off of her feet.

Emmeryn coughed blood onto the rocks as she climbed back up to her knees. The new threat quickly revealed itself with its signature cackle.

"Ardri," Emmeryn muttered, glaring at her opponent.

"So violent!" said Ardri. "Tsk, tsk. The great Exalt has fallen so low… she would actually take a life, where she would once sacrifice her own to protect her _enemies!"_

Emmeryn shook her head, uncomprehending, but not eager to hear more of Ardri's words. Another flame roared from her palm, hell-bent on Ardri.

Ardri shielded himself with his arms; the flames cascaded around him, and though he winced slightly, his cackle did not waver. "Got a bite to ya, too! Well, don't you worry, I love biters." He leveled his own tome at her.

Though Emmeryn was quick to dodge, she noticed the attack was not the same as what had knocked her off of her feet. That dark vortex behind her would have ripped her limb from limb…

She looked back to Ardri, and found him already charging another use of his tome. Alarmed, Emmeryn leapt aside again, dodging the second blast.

"More nimble than I'd expected," Ardri mused. "…Well, doesn't matter. I've killed nimbler!" He raised his palm again.

Emmeryn answered by raising her own, and she loosed a use of Arcfire. The flames encompassed Ardri's attack, and for a brief instant, the two spells collided.

However, Ardri's easily won the competition. Emmeryn's eyes widened as she saw the attack heading straight for her, and with hardly a moment to spare, she started to dodge.

It wasn't enough. The edge of the blast caught her, twisting her around and throwing her off of her feet. She felt Arcfire leave her grip.

Emmeryn grunted as she impacted shoulder-first on the harsh ground. She could feel blood trickling from her lips, and her body trembled in pain.

Slowly, she forced herself to roll onto her back. She struggled to raise her head, catching a glimpse of the approaching Ardri and of the chaotic combat beyond.

"Well, well, well," said Ardri, walking closer. He was arrogantly brushing dust from his spell tome. "If it's not one thing, it's another. If it's not another thing, then it's me. Heheh. It was only fate that you'd die, Exalt. It figures it would fall to me to make true destiny's wishes."

Emmeryn reached around with her hands, soon settling on a thick rock.

Ardri aimed his palm at Emmeryn from a few paces away.

Emmeryn grasped the rock, quickly sat up, and flung it at Ardri. The rock flew a small distance before colliding with Ardri's eye.

Ardri dropped his tome, clutched his face in his hands, and staggered backwards, swearing loudly.

Emmeryn rolled over—too weak to stand—and started crawling with all her energy. _Arcfire,_ she thought tiredly. _Where's Arcfire…?_

Ardri's hands dropped from his face. One of his eyes was forced closed, dripping with blood, as he searched for his target with his other. When he found Emmeryn, he snarled bestially, and gave chase. He immediately stumbled, unused to his half-blindness; he growled again, and then bounded after Emmeryn on all fours like an animal.

Emmeryn hazarded a glance over her shoulder as she crawled, and yelped in fear at the sight. She crawled faster, spotting Arcfire lying on the ground some feet away.

Her eyes were trained on the tome—so close, so close—and she could hear his animalistic snarling encroaching on her from behind—it was nearly in reach, and she could hear his breathing, his hands reached for her—

She dove for the Arcfire, felt her fingers wrap around the tome, and she twisted around as she fell, spraying the magic fire at her pursuer.

Ardri took the blast point-blank.

The stream of Arcfire threw him off of his feet, and he sailed through the air for nearly a full second before collapsing in a charred heap several paces away.

Ardri lay still.

Emmeryn lay on her back, nearly as still, if not for the gasping breaths shaking her whole body. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the sky in pale horror.

 _What have I… What… what…_

She lifted herself onto her elbows, staring at Ardri's corpse. His eyes were also wide, his smirk utterly gone from his singed face. He did not move.

 _I killed him,_ Emmeryn thought. She leaned forward, placing her hands in her lap and staring at the ground.

"Emmeryn!"

Emmeryn's face turned toward the voice, but she hardly acknowledged Robin as he approached.

"—eryn! Emmeryn, are you all right?" Robin snapped his fingers in her face, and she awoke. "Emmeryn, answer me!"

"Y-Yes, yes," she said numbly, running a hand through her hair.

Her hand continued to trail through her hair, and she felt a warm liquid drenching the back of her head. She let out a small breath, remembering the rock she had hit earlier.

It didn't matter. "I'll be… okay…" she murmured.

"Thank the gods." Robin kneeled next to her. "You're safe now, Emmeryn. That's the last of them." He nodded at Ardri's corpse. "And nice work! Couldn't have done it without you."

 _So casual,_ Emmeryn found herself thinking again. _He just… accepts it. No condescension, or…_ "Th-Thank you," she said, a smile coming to her face unbidden. "For… everything."

"Don't worry about it," said Robin cheerfully. "It's what we do. Anyway, we should head back to the village. There's more fight to be had, and we should unite with the rest of the Shepherds first."

"Right," Emmeryn said, panting. "Could you… give me a moment? I…"

"Sure," Robin said, softening. He glanced aside, noticing Chrom approaching. "Take all the time you need."

"Okay," Emmeryn breathed. "I just…"

She rolled over, resting on all fours, and vomited.

* * *

 _November 28th:_

 _After that, I fell unconscious. For the rest of the day, as it happened… but I'll get to that._

 _I awoke in my own bed back in the village, both of my protectors with me._

* * *

Robin glanced up from his book, a smile dawning on his face at the sight. "Lady Emmeryn, you're awake!"

Emmeryn blinked, her mind in a haze. Her hands slowly drifted up to her head, to find her ponytail undone and her wound from earlier thickly bandaged.

"D-Don't touch that," Robin said hastily, leaning forward as if to stand. "You'll mess it up…"

Emmeryn dropped her hands, and Robin sat back, reassured. She looked around, gathering her bearings: she stopped, surprised, when she noticed the limp form next to her. Chrom lay slumped against her bed, breathing rhythmically in sleep.

The sight brought a smile to Emmeryn's face.

Robin grinned. "He was there all night," Robin said. "After we took out the rest of those Grimleal yesterday, he wouldn't leave your sickbed."

"I'm… touched," said Emmeryn slowly. A thought occurred to her: one of Ardri's taunts… "He… is… my brother?"

"Yes," replied Robin. "Your—younger brother." He gestured out the door with his thumb. "You have a sister, too—she'll be here soon, with the rest of the Shepherds."

 _Younger brother,_ Emmeryn thought. She gingerly ran her hand through the sleeping Chrom's hair, a motherly smile on her face. She faced Robin again. "And—these, Shepherds… They all know me?"

"They all know _of_ you," said Robin slowly. "Only a few of them have actually met you in person, but… they'd all love to see you alive and well."

 _I'd love to see them too,_ Emmeryn thought suddenly. She froze, her smile wavering. _I—I would love to see them._

She remembered Robin's reaction to her defeat of Ardri. A casual _"Nice work! Couldn't have done it without you."_

 _A family… where I am needed… but, more importantly, I am…_

Her breath caught.

 _Accepted… not as a protectorate, but as an equal._

She quickly faced Robin, her expression eager. "B-Bring them here," she said quickly. "Please… I would love to… to meet them."

It was more than just a desire to meet everyone. It was, finally, a feeling of _worthiness_ to meet them. Emmeryn had taken her fate into her own hands for the first time. She was strong enough to protect herself, now. Were evil to strike her again in one of its many forms—Sirus, Risen, Grimleal… She could finally fight back. She _did_ finally fight back.

A giddy smile arose on her lips. _But I still needn't fight back alone._

Chrom grunted, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He soon caught glimpse of Emmeryn, and was instantly alert. "E-Emm! You're awake!" He clambered to his feet, inspecting Emmeryn's bandage. "Are you all right? Do you feel well? Do you need anything?"

"Y-Yes—er, no, I—"

"Chrom," Robin said. "Remember what I said about giving her space?"

Chrom huffed impatiently. "Next time you're in my shoes, _you_ can act however you want!" He turned back to Emmeryn.

Emmeryn giggled quietly. "Chrom… I am… all right. Okay…?"

Chrom hesitated, flinching slightly. His expression was hard for Emmeryn to read—was he happy, or…?

"Emm… Emmeryn," Chrom said slowly. "Do you remember… anything? Anything about me? About Ylisse, about…" He trailed off, at a loss: he could see his answers in Emmeryn's eyes. "Gods, it's unreal… that you're back, but…!"

Chrom backed off and started to pace, running his hands through his hair anxiously. Emmeryn and Robin watched and waited.

"Dammit!" Chrom said suddenly, clenching his hands into fists. "I don't even know how to _feel_ about this! What kind of cruel trick are the gods playing on me, to give me my sister back after two years, but to take away her memories? Take away everything we've ever had—all our years together as a family?!" Chrom turned and slammed his fist into the wall, causing Emmeryn to flinch. "I don't know if I should feel grateful or angry!"

"Right now it's looking like angry," said Robin warily. "Chrom… calm down. All of that aside… it's still Emmeryn. It's still her." He gestured at her. "Chrom, look at her—look at Emmeryn—and tell me, truthfully, that you are not happy to have her back."

Chrom hesitated for a moment, his face still to the wall. Then, he turned around, meeting Emmeryn's eye.

Emmeryn saw a transformation in Chrom in that instant. The strong warrior from yesterday had vanished, and all she saw was—was a younger brother, with tears in his eyes, now rushing forward to embrace her.

Chrom hugged Emmeryn tightly, shaking as he clutched at his very real, very alive sister. "I missed you," he whispered, clenching his teeth to fight tears. "I missed you so much, Emm…!"

Emmeryn returned the embrace. "Shh," she whispered. "Don't… cry…"

The words came to her instinctually, and though she thought of Rjorn, both Chrom and Robin tensed with alarm at her words.

"E-Emmeryn!" Robin murmured in awe. "Y-You…"

"You would always say that to us," Chrom finished, extricating himself from the embrace. "As children, you…"

Emmeryn wanted to correct them, wanted to say "no, I only know those words from a friend," but… that didn't feel true. She felt a tingling sensation when she spoke those words… a small taste of memory through them, a nostalgic sense of identity. Those were _her_ words, and she must now own them.

"I remember nothing… b-but sensations," Emmeryn said slowly, struggling to articulate. "And… I, er… I felt that… I must say that…"

She could not help but smile wistfully at the sight of Chrom disobeying her command and crying anyway. A tear traced a long path down his cheek, and he hugged her again, breaking down into thanks to the gods for bringing his sister back to him.

Robin smiled warmly as he watched the reunion, and felt a sudden craving for the company of his own family. "I'll go get the other Shepherds," he said softly, and left the two be.

* * *

 _November 28th (cont.):_

 _I rested in my bed for the remainder of the day. The others wouldn't let me get up, and I was not left alone for longer than a few minutes. I had wondered if they distrusted me from escaping again, or if they are simply concerned for my health… But I suppose it doesn't matter. My head still throbs, and the bandage applied to my wound is rather tight—it's best I don't stand._

 _Not to mention I have no intention of leaving. With these Shepherds, I truly felt at home. Each Shepherd reacted differently to my reappearance, with truly staggering results…_

* * *

"It's probably best if it's one at a time," Robin whispered to Chrom and Emmeryn, with his hand on the doorknob. "Nobody knows why I've asked them to come here, and…"

"Yeah, I've got it," Chrom said, waving it away impatiently. "Let's get to it, alright?"

Robin rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine." He opened the door and slipped through.

Emmeryn wrung her hands anxiously, glancing aside at her brother.

"Nervous?" Chrom laughed. "Me too. I mean, we Shepherds are no stranger to pranks, but this is a pretty huge one to pull on everyone. Can't wait to see everyone's reaction."

"Pranks…?" Emmeryn said. "I thought this would… be more serious."

"Oh, it is," said Chrom quickly. "I didn't mean to imply that your return was—a joke, or anything."

"I see." Emmeryn turned back toward the door, and she and Chrom both fell silent as they heard voices approaching.

"…What could possibly be so important that you've gotta pull me away from the feast, huh? I mean, come on! And don't think I don't see your eyes—they're super red!"

A knock at the door. Chrom stood to answer it.

"Yeah, you've been crying, you can't hide anything from me," the girlish voice continued. Chrom opened the door, revealing Robin standing next to a small, blonde girl with messy pigtails. "Chrom, too? What's all this about?"

Chrom stepped aside, allowing her in. "We've got a guest, Lissa," he said quietly, smiling. "You should meet her."

Lissa started to enter, her eyes trained on Chrom warily. Robin closed the door behind her and leaned against it. "'Her?' Is this another village maiden? Because I'm pretty sure I warned you to stay away from them now that you're married to Mari—"

She froze in the middle of the room, her eyes now fixed on the girl in the bed. She stumbled a half-step backwards. "Wh—Wh—Chrom!" Lissa glared at Chrom, pointing an accusing finger at Emmeryn. "What's going on?! Who is that?!"

"Who do you think?" Chrom replied calmly, gesturing at Emmeryn again.

Lissa's eyes darted from Emmeryn, to Robin, to Chrom, and back to Emmeryn, gradually moistening the longer she stared. "N-No, it's… it's not… It can't be…"

"It is," said Chrom. "It's her."

Tears streamed from Lissa's eyes as she continued staring at Emmeryn, uncomprehending, immobile. "B-But… but… I thought… she…" She shook her head. "That's impossible, isn't it?!"

"Apparently not," said Robin softly. "Lissa… it's her. It's Emmeryn."

Lissa stared Emmeryn in the eyes, both growing increasingly uncomfortable as moments passed. It wasn't long, however, before Lissa too was in Emmeryn's arms, sobbing incoherently.

Despite herself, Emmeryn began to cry as well. She hugged Lissa tightly, as unwilling to let go as her sister was.

 _Sister,_ Emmeryn thought happily. _My sister._

* * *

 _November 28th (cont.):_

 _I cried more tears than I thought I had, today… and I am not alone in that._

* * *

"Oh, you've gotta be damn kidding me!" said the red-haired cavalier, while the green-haired one simply stared slack-jawed. "Uh—'scuse my language, Your Holiness!"

* * *

"It's Teach who's really learned a lesson today," said the muscular blonde man, who sobbed into a handkerchief provided by Lissa.

* * *

"It's like I always say," the white-haired man said, with an absolutely straight face. "It's not a _real_ death unless there's tons of blood!"

 _"Henry!"_

* * *

"Wha—Robin!" said the pegasus knight, turning on him. "You didn't mention _this_ was why you weren't home when I got back from scouting the other night!"

"Oh, come on, Sumia," said Robin mischievously. "You've gotta admit, the surprise was worth it."

Sumia rolled her eyes, but was smiling widely, and when Robin moved closer to hug her, she wept like the others.

* * *

"No way," breathed Anna, pale with shock. "Absolutely stunning… I've never… I've never seen this happen before. Of all the times I've…"

She froze, realizing her present company, and brushed her hair over her ear, smirking. "I knew you had it in ya, Your Holiness! Anyway, I gotta go. Gotta… check on some things…"

As Anna hurried out of the room, Emmeryn furrowed her eyebrows and couldn't help but wonder if she'd seen that girl before.

* * *

"No…" Lucina staggered. "Exalt Emmeryn! I-Impossible! I—I—but…"

She slowly approached, stopping just before Emmeryn's bedside. Her legs trembled, and they soon failed her—she fell to her knees, unable to look away from the former Exalt. "I don't believe it," she choked. "You're… alive! I—I have no words…"

Lucina prostrated herself across Emmeryn's bed, clasping her hands around Emmeryn's. "It—it truly happened!" She laughed with glee, casting tears across Emmeryn's bedside. "I changed this! I was able to truly change this, all along! Haha!" She buried her face in Emmeryn's lap, shivering with tears and laughter. "I was able to change the future all along! After all this time, only Validar's fall could convince me otherwise—when you, Aunt Emmeryn, were already alive, proving me right! Oh, gods! Oh!"

Lucina kicked herself for her inability to speak from then on, unable to fight the tears.

…Emmeryn decided to ask for an explanation later…

* * *

This final knight—a serious man for sure, with a regal demeanor—simply sat still, staring Emmeryn in the eyes, his hands folded in front of his pursed lips.

The room was silent. Chrom, Robin, Lissa, and Emmeryn all watched him anxiously, waiting for some sort of response.

Robin scratched the back of his head. _Does he even realize who…_ "Er, Frederick?"

The knight, Frederick, was silent for another long moment, his eyes boring into Emmeryn's.

Then—finally: "…After that fateful day, all that time ago, we never found the body. We were rushed to escape, and could not take you with us. Even after defeating Gangrel, we searched for your body once again, but it was nowhere to be found. Swallowed by the sands, we thought, or worse…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Over the last two years, whenever things were at their most dire… I allowed myself a playful fantasy, that, perhaps, you had lived after all, and had found peace in some remote location, free from the responsibilities of Exalt." He slowly sighed. "But then I would think: 'No. Emmeryn would never leave, not when she had the strength to return.' So, in the end, even my most optimistic side could only handle the possibility that, if you had lived indeed, you would have to be a shell of your former self…"

Frederick fell silent again.

Emmeryn trembled. A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

"To be proven right…" Frederick sighed again, though his voice noticeably wavered. "Even though the sad truth comes with it… My happiness is truly unspeakable, Your Grace." He finally cracked his stoic expression with a half-smile. "Lady Emmeryn—with the utmost enthusiasm, I now return to your service. I, Sir Frederick, shall serve you 'til my dying breath, as ever."

Frederick stood and bowed dutifully. "Excuse me, Your Grace." And he left her in her room, alone with the others, all of whom watched the door Frederick had left from.

Emmeryn's hands cupped her mouth. In another moment, tears streamed from them like never before; she shook with violent sobs that she could barely contain. It was not long before a strained hiccup leaked through, and all eyes turned to her—she then lost interest in hiding her tears, and wept uninhibited.

Her family enveloped her in their caring arms…

* * *

It had been a very, very long day.

She lay on her side, staring out her moonlit window, as all of today's emotions continued to drain her away. The other Shepherds had probably returned to the feast, which by now had likely ended, so, their camp then, she supposed.

She sat up, glancing around her room. Lissa and Chrom both lay on makeshift mattresses on the floor, utterly unconscious.

Emmeryn warmed from their peaceful expressions. They both slept with smiles…

"You're still awake?"

The whisper startled Emmeryn, and as she searched for the voice, she noticed Robin sitting in the same chair as before, without the book this time. Unlike the remainder of the room's occupants, Robin seemed awake and alert.

Emmeryn blinked. "You… too?"

Robin nodded. "Can't sleep."

"Why?"

Robin's mouth opened, but after a moment of hesitation, he gave up and smiled sheepishly. "It's complicated."

Emmeryn leaned forward, hugging her knees to her chest, and tilted her head curiously. "I… want to know…"

Robin sighed briefly. Emmeryn thought of—

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Robin asked quietly, gesturing at the door with his thumb. He nodded at Emmeryn's sleeping siblings and added, "Wouldn't want to wake them by talking."

Emmeryn nodded and slowly climbed out of bed. As she stood, she realized her legs were stiff from a full day of lying down. She wiggled her toes to regain feeling.

"Whenever you're ready," said Robin, his hand on the doorknob.

He stepped outside. After taking a moment to stretch, Emmeryn followed him.

* * *

When she stepped outside, closing the door behind her, she noticed Robin standing a short distance away. His back to Emmeryn, he looked up at the sky, with his hands clasped behind his back.

Emmeryn folded her night cloak tightly around her, fighting the chill. She approached Robin.

Robin noticed her approach and glanced over his shoulder at her. When she caught up, they began to walk through the sleeping village.

Robin broke the silence first. "Lady Emmeryn—Do you mind if I just call you Emmeryn?"

Emmeryn paused. To be honest, though 'Emmeryn' was very similar to her old name, it was slightly harder to pronounce. "'Emm' is fine," she said with a smile.

"Emm? Huh." Robin shrugged. "Used to be, only Chrom and Lissa could call you that."

"We are… friends," said Emmeryn. "Call me… what you like."

Robin shifted uncomfortably. "I'd prefer 'Emmeryn', if that's all right… 'Emm' is a little too intimate."

Emmeryn's face fell. "Okay…"

They walked for another silent moment. The chill was more biting with no conversation.

"I didn't realize you knew magic," Robin said at last. "And high-level magic at that."

Emmeryn had trouble reading Robin. His tone was measured, but his eyes did not aim forward like John's or Nina's or Chrom's—they looked downward, watching the ground before him. Despite Robin's casual tone, Emmeryn could not shake the feeling that something serious bothered him.

"I was taught…" she replied. "I had a friend here… she…"

"Was it Rjorn?"

Emmeryn's breath caught, and she stopped walking. Robin stopped as well, and he turned to face her.

Robin's hand dipped into his pocket; Emmeryn had a sudden, horrible flashback.

"Here." Robin retracted his hand from his pocket, and in his palm lay a sparkling ruby accoutrement.

Emmeryn slowly accepted the gift, in awe. "Her talisman…"

"I'd thought it was one of those Resistance-boosting talismans," Robin said, "so I grabbed it off of that Grimleal captain. It isn't, as it turns out, but I… I kept it, because…"

Emmeryn froze. "Th-The book… you were reading… when I woke up?" She slowly looked up from Rjorn's talisman. "You read my journal…"

Robin sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what it was at first—I picked it up after reading the letter you left in your room—but after I read some of it, my curiosity got the better of me."

Emmeryn's breathing hastened. "R-Robin… Where is it."

"It's back in your satchel," said Robin calmly. "I swear, I didn't show anyone else, nor does anyone else know of it." He smiled wanly. "At least I knew whose talisman that was, thanks to the journal. I probably would've sold it for war funds if I hadn't known."

Emmeryn closed her eyes, forcing herself to not panic. She could trust Robin. She could trust him. Right? "Th-Thank you…" She clasped Rjorn's talisman to her heart. "This means… a lot to me."

Robin smiled, and they resumed walking.

"Emmeryn…" Robin began. "Are familiar with the term, 'dissonance'?"

Emmeryn furrowed her eyebrows in thought, but it seemed she had not learned that word yet. She shook her head.

"It's like… when something's different from how it should be, kinda," Robin explained slowly. "Like when two notes in a song don't match up."

"Okay…"

"Well… you… You're just _really_ dissonant from how you used to be, before—" Robin hesitated. Even now, he couldn't directly mention her death. It still felt tasteless. "…I admittedly didn't know you for very long, but you held this… this regal presence, and all of your words exuded… charisma, and peace. You never would've taken up a weapon, much less _use_ it. Now, you're just… a whole different person, from what you used to be."

Emmeryn's eyes were downcast. She suddenly missed her bangs, which formerly would have hidden her eyes; now, the others wanted them combed aside, so they could see that Brand…

"Not that any of this is bad," continued Robin. "Considering all you've gone through… The pirates, the Risen, the… the Valmese soldiers… I can neither blame nor judge you for your actions. On the contrary, I think you are in the right. Reading your journal, learning every hardship you've experienced… it's, it's numbing, it's humbling…"

"St-Stop," Emmeryn said, flushing red. "Please."

Emmeryn's words hung in the air for a quiet moment. Emmeryn refused to look at Robin as they walked, while Robin's eyes wouldn't stop boring into Emmeryn.

Robin grimaced, and he faced forward. "I'm so sorry, Emmeryn. For all the time I've—we've—lost with you. Yet…"

Emmeryn waited for him to continue his sentence, but after a long moment, it seemed he would not. She glanced at him, confused.

Small, silent tears ran down Robin's cheeks; his nails dug into his palms vehemently. Emmeryn's lips parted slightly in surprise.

"Yet here you are," Robin choked. He turned to Emmeryn; his eyes were already red, his emotional shield finally cracked. "Proof. Proof that the future can be changed, proof that miracles _do_ exist. You, being here, you've shown that even if there's a million-to-one chance, it's possible to take that chance and win."

Emmeryn frowned confusedly, trying to think of why, of all things, that's what he would focus on. "Million-to-one chance… like what…? How does that… apply to you…?"

Robin's smile slowly withered. "That's… a secret. Something for another day, perhaps." He nodded behind him. "We should turn back, get some rest. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Emmeryn hesitantly nodded.

* * *

 _November 29th:_

 _I am a Shepherd._

 _I have little else to say. I am with my true family, and I couldn't be happier. Anything more would be retreading my old cynicism…_

 _Perhaps that means I am not being as honest with myself, but my journal feels much less secure than it used to. I could once pour my heart out onto these pages, but now, knowing two people other than myself have read this, it feels… violated._

 _…I suppose that's rather silly. I should just… keep better track of my journal, keep it safer. If I'm not secure here, after all, then where would I be?_

 _Anyway…._

 _We set sail for land early this morning. As soon as tomorrow we should make landfall in south Valm—we evidently are expediting for the west, and will travel by land for much of the journey._

 _Other things I have learned:_

· _I have not met all of the Shepherds, only the ones that were fielded in combat the other day. Surprisingly, I have not yet been introduced to the other fifteen-plus Shepherds._

· _Chrom is keeping my return low-key… little fanfare. I'm not certain why, yet, but it may have something to do with the previous note._

· _These people have very, very good cooking. My complements to the rotating chefs. (If it's ever my turn to cook, I hope the others like sandwiches.)  
_

* * *

 _November 30th_

"Emmeryn."

She slowly blinked awake to find Robin standing by her tent flap. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "G-Good morning…"

"Not yet," Robin chuckled. "There're a few Risen blocking the road up ahead; a few of us are going to go deal with them. I'm just here to wake you up, to start packing. We've got more walking to do after this skirmish."

"Skirmish…" Excitement built in Emmeryn's chest. "I'll grab Arcfire…" she added sleepily, and started to climb out of bed.

"N-No, actually," Robin said. "Sorry, but you aren't a part of this fight."

"Wh-What? Why not?"

Robin shrugged. "That's just the way it is. Anyway, we're heading out. See you later, Emmeryn."

Emmeryn watched him go.

After a moment of sitting there, still staring at the tent flap, she suddenly clenched her teeth into a scowl and pounded a fist into her sheets, frustrated.

Into her mind popped a painful memory. _My cowardice on the ship,_ she thought, disgusted. How she had hid while those she loved tried to protect her.

Tried. Succeeded. Died for their heroism.

She clenched her fists tightly. _I am not afraid._

Emmeryn stood, quickly got dressed, immediately snatched up Arcfire and her Recover staff, and chased Robin into battle.

* * *

"No! _Absolutely_ not!"

Robin and Emmeryn followed Chrom into his tent. Emmeryn's fiery determination from earlier had mellowed into fear of Chrom's reprisal, but she did not regret any of her earlier actions on the battlefield.

Meanwhile, Ylisse's finest continued to argue.

"Chrom, she's an extremely capable healer and a competent tome-fighter," Robin reasoned. "She's a Sage, and we don't have very many of those."

"We have Miriel and Laurent," Chrom snapped back, "and Maribelle as a Valkyrie fills the same role."

"You have a point with Maribelle," Robin conceded, "but look at the other two. Miriel and Laurent are both offense-focused Sages. They don't specialize in staves like Emmeryn does, and that makes her skills valuable."

"I won't consider it," Chrom snarled. "I'm not putting her on a battlefield, now or ever."

"Did you not _see_ how well she performed in the skirmish today?"

"We didn't need her there," Chrom retorted. "The battle was as good as won either way. If anything, she worsened our chances by surprising us like that!"

Emmeryn flinched, hurt.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Obviously she wasn't _needed_ for this little skirmish. Hell, for a dozen Revenants, I could've sent you _alone_ to take care of all of them; that's not the point I'm making. And—'worsened our chances'? Perhaps if you _let_ her fight, not making her _sneak_ into battle, then she wouldn't surprise us like that!"

Even Robin was starting to get heated. Chrom was already there, however. "Why are we even _having_ this damn argument, Robin? This is _Emmeryn_ we're talking about!" He faced Emmeryn. "I promised you I'd never let you fall in harm's way ever again! I'm _not_ going to throw away that promise."

"Then why even _have_ her here?" Robin growled. "Why take her with us if she's never even going to fight?"

"Because after doing our business here, meeting this… this Radiant Hero, or whatever," he dismissed the aside with a wave, "I was going to return to Ylisse and drop off Emmeryn in the capital."

"What?!" said Robin and Emmeryn in unison. On his own, Robin continued: "No way. Unacceptable. That's a waste of our time and, more importantly, a resource."

"Resour—? Are you calling my sister a _resource?"_

"Yes," Robin said bluntly. "She's a valuable addition to the Shepherds, and it would be a gross misallocation to not use her."

Robin's words settled in for a moment. Chrom was flabbergasted, searching for appropriate words.

"Wh… Wow, Robin." Chrom shook his head. "I've been getting the hang of your logistics for the most part, but that's a new one."

Robin tilted his head, a small grin tugging at his mouth. "I'm surprised that you're surprised. You've never heard me refer to our Shepherds as 'units'? 'Have two units attack here; Sully and Stahl will do'?"

"I suppose… when it's Emmeryn, it sounds different." Chrom sighed. "Can you understand my concerns, at least?"

"Oh, I understand," said Robin. "You're a passionate guy. You've always let your heart rule the day, and trust me, I absolutely respect that. It's why we make such a good team. But, in this case, you're letting your feelings overrule practicality. The Shepherds are better off with Emmeryn as an addition, and I fully intend to field her in combat if necessary." He waggled a finger, grinning widely. "And as tactician, I've got the last say in who goes where in battle!"

"Hmph. You don't get the last say in who joins the army."

Robin's eyes narrowed. "You've allowed people of questionable character to fight for us. Need I remind you of the others we've recruited since Grima awoke? The ones before Emmeryn?"

"Hey, Yen'fay isn't so bad."

"I'm not talking about Yen'fay."

Chrom sighed quickly and impatiently. "F…" He hesitated. "…Fine. Fine, she can fight. You win again, Robin."

"Again? I definitely lost when arguing against…" Robin glanced aside at Emmeryn. "Against you-know-who joining the party."

"Let's not talk about _him."_ Chrom turned to Emmeryn. "Listen… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so harsh."

Emmeryn smiled. "It's fine… I appreciate your concern, truly… but… I want to help my family."

Chrom's sigh was much longer this time. "Dammit, Emmeryn, that's impossible to argue with."

The trio shared a short laugh.

* * *

 _December 1st:_

 _I didn't tell Robin what happened in the skirmish yesterday._

 _I killed an Entombed._

 _I wasn't afraid._

 _Garden of Giants, here we come._

* * *

 _December 2nd_

Emmeryn was brought back to her senses when she accidentally bumped shoulders with a passersby headed to the opposite side of camp. "Oh… excuse me…" Emmeryn murmured, and made to continue on her way.

"A-Ah! Ah!"

The deranged exclamations of surprise made Emmeryn double-take, facing the man again. For some reason, this fellow with an odd hairstyle had a look of utter horror and shock on his… gray complexion. Was that a crown he was wearing…?

"Did I… hurt you?" Emmeryn pressed, confused.

"No! No, nuh-uh." The man shook his head vehemently. "You'd never, I'm sure! Heh… heh…" He pointed over his shoulder with his trembling thumb. "Welp, I, uh, gotta go. See ya, Emmeryn, or, uh… not."

She bemusedly watched him flee.

* * *

Robin clenched his teeth in anger, to Emmeryn's surprise. "I _told_ that bastard to not talk to you."

Emmeryn shook her head, becoming more confused by the second. "Who…?"

"Don't worry about it. A waste of breath to even speak of him."

"Do I get his _name_ …?"

Robin sighed. "…Gangrel. That guy's name is Gangrel." He watched her reaction intently.

But she didn't give one, because the name meant nothing to her. "I see…"

Robin let out his breath, glad the name had triggered nothing. "Okay. Well, let's move on. How are things here, Emmeryn?"

"What do… you mean?"

"It's no secret that you've had many more conversations with me than with anyone else in the Shepherds," Robin continued plainly. "That's because I keep talking to you. It's an accountability thing, mostly. I've had conversations like these with pretty much every newcomer since Valm. It's part-psyche eval, part-capability assessment, part-fun conversation."

"Isn't Chrom in charge…? Why doesn't… he do it?"

"Chrom's unbelievably busy these days," replied Robin. "He's taken over my old logistical duties—managing equipment and stuff—leaving me the day-in, day-out tactical planning and, well," he gestured at Emmeryn, "this sort of thing. I'm more of a people-person than Chrom, anyway; I can converse with pretty much anyone, while he prefers to stick to his tried-and-true friends."

"I see…" So that explained why Emmeryn had seen so little of her brother since she had joined the army. But that didn't answer… "What about… Lissa?"

"Lissa… Well, that answer's not so simple."

"Why not…?"

"Long story short, Emmeryn: Lissa doesn't talk to you that often because you intimidate her."

Emmeryn nearly laughed. "In—Intimidate? Me…?"

"For most of Lissa's life, you were like a mother to her," Robin explained seriously. "The warm, nurturing one who could do no wrong. You were kind, but serious and firm, and you held such high morals that no man could possibly deign to reach your level; Lissa felt that she was no different. To be honest, we all feel that way, even me and Chrom. The example you set was simply impossible to follow, especially considering the way you—" But Robin froze again, still unable to put into words what had befallen her. "Anyway… you're back, a year and a half later, and you've lost your memories. Anything you and Lissa _could_ talk about, you _can't_ now, so she has even less reason to speak to you than she used to." Robin finally laughed, and gestured at her head. "You'd think that you no longer wearing that crown would've been the end of it."

"Crown…?"

Robin hesitated. "Y-Yeah… Your crown. You used to always wear it, so much so that I couldn't picture you without it. I suspect that's why it took people so long to recognize you, on top of not wearing your Brand out in the open. I guess it's obvious you wouldn't have the crown, though… it was the one thing we were able to recover from the desert, though it was cracked in two. It's been enshrined in Ylisstol ever since."

Emmeryn struggled to attach an image to the crown. She imagined a bright, silver tiara, studded with various gems. It likely shone brightly, contrasting with her hair in its silverness.

"Perhaps we'll get you a new one, when this is all over," Robin chuckled, and he stood from his chair. "Well, I've got to go. See you later, Emmeryn."

"Bye…"

Emmeryn's mind was absent. _Another crown? Does that mean… Does that mean he wants me to return_ _to being the Exalt once this is over?_

 _Is that what_ I _want, even?_

* * *

 _December 9th_

Robin smiled simply. On anyone else, Emmeryn would have thought the smile was forced, but with Robin, this was genuine. (Unless he ALWAYS forced his smiles.) "How are you today, Lady Emmeryn?"

"…Lady?"

Robin hesitated. "Sorry… kinda slipped out. When I knew you… before, I would only ever refer to you with an honorific."

"You needn't… any longer."

"I know, but it's honestly weird that I'm referring to you, the former Exalt, like… like we're close."

"We are," Emmeryn said. After a pause, she added: "…Aren't we?"

"Y…Yes," Robin admitted. "I'd like to think that we're friends."

Emmeryn smiled. "But you must have… many friends. You said you were a… a…"

"People person," Robin finished. "Yeah, I've spoken with everyone in the army many times. I'd like to think every one of them is a friend of mine."

"Every one of them," Emmeryn marveled. "Such bonds… such supports… must have taken so much time to build…"

Robin laughed. "You have no idea. Many times, I wished for your patience and charisma—but I made do with smooth words and friendliness."

 _Smooth words,_ she mused. _Words…_

An old thought suddenly popped into her mind.

 _I should relearn how to speak._

She broke into a wide smile at the notion.

 _I'm GOING to relearn how to speak._

She looked into Robin's eyes. "May I… ask a favor?"

"Sure thing."

"When this… the war…" Emmeryn gestured around, "when it's all over…" She leaned forward, beaming and grasping Robin's hands in her own, "would you reteach me… how to speak well?"

Robin blinked, his smile rapidly decaying. "Y… Yeah. Sure, Emmeryn." He forced his smile back up for her. "I'd be honored."

Emmeryn laughed, joyfully pulling Robin into a hug. "Oh, thank you!" she giggled. "I can't wait…!"

"Me neither," Robin muttered. Emmeryn didn't see, but all emotion had drained from his face. "Me neither."

* * *

 _December 10th_

"Thirty Shepherds?" Chrom scoffed. "Thirty?"

"I agree, it's a lot," conceded Robin, "but better safe than sorry. Anyway, with thirty units to choose from, we can be a lot more flexible in our formation."

"There you go again with the 'units' thing. And I think you're spiting me by bringing Emmeryn along."

"More like 'taking advantage of'," Robin teased. "But really, I'm not. It was between her and Yarne, so I chose her."

"Poor Yarne. Or maybe, good for Yarne."

Robin rolled his eyes. "And in the end, we're only here to recruit this Radiant Hero and be on our way. We shouldn't even see combat, and if we do, I wouldn't field Emmeryn versus an opponent as tough as him—assuming he lives up to his reputation."

* * *

Priam chuckled deeply. It was the first sound Chrom had elicited from the man.

"I see your terms," rumbled the Radiant Hero. "It appears your cause is worthy of the legendary blade Ragnell." His hand constantly clutched the hilt of the sword by his hip, even while seated. "But—Chrom, was it? I have one condition for my recruitment."

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "You have my ear."

"You are the Exalt, wielder of the sacred, unbreakable Falchion," said Priam, a wide grin on his face. "I challenge you to a duel. The descendant of the Hero-King Marth versus the descendant of the Radiant Hero, Ike." The corner of his grin turned upward into a challenging smirk. "A battle for the ages."

Chrom blinked, staring at the gargantuan of a man before him. Priam's left hand never left Ragnell's hilt; his right one constantly fidgeted with a small puzzle, solving it and unsolving it, repeating the motions by muscle memory.

Chrom could read this man. Always looking for a fight; Chrom was reminded of Vaike. But this man seemed to live combat, breathe combat: he constantly kept his hands in deft motion, staying alert and ready. Battling was his _life._ In a one-on-one fight, Chrom had no hope of victory against this legend.

Chrom smiled wanly. "I see. Well, I am never one to shy from a worthy fight, but I am no fool. I could not best you in single combat."

"Hahaha! Well spoken." Priam's sharp gaze shifted toward Robin. "Very well. If I will not coax single combat from you, how about a grand engagement? My army versus yours." His smirk was unwavering. "I've heard tales of Ylisse's master tactician—as powerful in brain as I am in muscle. I'd put that to the test."

Chrom and Robin exchanged glances. Their silent agreement reached, Chrom turned back to Priam and grinned. "Very well, we accept your challenge."

"Excellent!" Priam boomed, and he laughed heartily. "I command the Radiants: an army fifty souls strong, worth an entire country's might. The plains to the north shall be our battleground. What say you?"

Robin's mind was still reeling at "fifty souls." _Thirty wasn't enough,_ he thought, winded.

"They sound capable," Chrom replied calmly. "Is this a battle to the death? I'd hate to waste so many valiant lives for one recruit."

"Most certainly not!" Priam laughed. "We warriors are no stranger to training battles amongst ourselves. We will not kill you if you do not kill us."

"Hm. Well, that sounds fair enough," said Chrom. "You've got a deal."

"Excellent!" Priam quickly stood, pocketing his puzzle. "I shall mobilize my warriors at once!"

Robin blinked. "You want to fight _now?"_

"Of course! We have much of the day left for fighting—why waste it? What have you left to do, that you cannot in, say, an hour?"

Robin paused, nonplussed. He faced an equally nonplussed Chrom, then back to Priam. "I-I suppose nothing," he admitted. "But you can understand that more time is best when making plans?"

"Understand you I do," said Priam boisterously, "yet ignore you I shall! Meet me on the plains in ninety minutes, or forever live in cowardice!"

His red cape billowing, the Radiant Hero dramatically turned and left.

After a silent pause, Chrom shook his head and said, "What the hell?"

* * *

Stahl was already laughing at his own story before he had even reached the punchline. Though Emmeryn did not know the ending (while all of the other listeners did), the green cavalier's laughter was ridiculously infectious, so she was already giggling along.

"S-So then, Sumia," Stahl continued, still snickering and pointing at the red-faced pegasus knight, "Sumia turns, tells him "get ahold of yourself," and—" He stifled another bout of chuckles, and leaned across the table, closer to Emmeryn, to really sell it—"and she punches _your brother_ in the face!"

The table promptly exploded with laughter, Emmeryn joining in on the fun.

"Oh, c'mon, guys," Sumia complained. Her face was hot with embarrassment. "That was two years ago! Do we _really_ need to keep telling people that story?"

"Well, yeah!" said pretty much everyone.

Emmeryn felt a little bad for embarrassing the girl, but eventually Sumia cracked a smile and joined the mirth as well. _What a good sport,_ Emmeryn thought.

Moments later, the door to the town hall cracked open, and in stepped Robin. The hall fell mostly silent.

"So, what's the plan?" asked… erm… the red-haired guy with the… candy… Gaius! That was his name. Emmeryn smiled, proud of herself for remembering. "We headin' out now?"

"Change of plans," said Robin dryly. "We've got a battle in an hour. Everyone's fighting."

A hush fell over the hall.

"You're joking," Severa said irritably.

"I'm afraid not. We've got little time, so everyone listen close—I'm gonna keep this briefing short." He pulled a large map from his pocket and spread it across the table, and produced his pointer stick along with it. "Most important thing: the party's sticking together at all times. If we keep up a wall, Priam's fifty soldiers won't be able to poke through. Mages—" he pointed at Miriel with the stick—"stay behind the front lines, and keep up the pressure with your spells. This is only a… sparring match, of sorts… so we're not killing anyone. Not sure if that makes things harder or easier, but we'll work with it. Anyway, as for the wall, we'll have Kellam—" Robin hesitated, searching for the man with his pointer stick.

"Over here," Kellam sighed; Emmeryn jumped, startled, upon realizing the man was sitting right next to her.

"Right." Robin pointed at Kellam. "You, and the others with good durability—Manaketes, warriors, and mercenaries," he pointed at Nowi, Vaike, and Inigo respectively, while silently indicating the others of those classes as well, "will stick with Kellam at the front. No sugarcoating, you guys _will_ take a beating, but that's what our healers are for." His pointer settled on Emmeryn; she flinched, startled by all the eyes turning to her. "If you're mixed specialists, then stick with one. Emmeryn, that means staves; Morgan, that means magic; Sumia and Cynthia, lances. You guys' Galeforce will be invaluable here."

The briefing went on for quite a while. Emmeryn was mostly lost from here on—talks of Sol, and Prescience, and Swordbreaker, and so many other terms she had never learned—but she had her own mission, so perform it she would, and to her fullest.

She practically shivered with excitement. Her first true engagement. She wouldn't let them down.

"Emmeryn." The sound of her name caught her attention once again. It was Robin, his tactical eyes settled on her. The others were moving about, getting ready; it was just him and her. "You're with me for this fight—everyone else has a partner. You understand your role?"

She nodded. "Y-Yes."

Robin nodded, finally giving her a tense smile. She could only imagine the stress this planning must put on him, especially given their limited timeframe. "Good. We're all counting on you." He patted her on the shoulder. "Now, go grab a few Mends from the convoy. I'll be waiting here."

"Okay."

As she turned away, a confident grin grew on her face. _Adventure._

* * *

Oh, it wasn't an adventure. It was a nonlethal bloodbath.

Yet, when Robin held the last Radiant fighter in a chokehold, and Chrom and Maribelle took down a laughing Priam together, Emmeryn looked down on herself, and found herself clean of blood and with her final staff nearly broken from overuse.

And she laughed. She threw her head back and shivered as all the anxiety left her.

She hadn't run. Regardless of whether her life was at stake, she didn't run or hide. She'd stood her ground and healed, and helped, and made herself useful.

And when Robin stopped before her, grinned widely, and said, "You did a great job, Emmeryn," she glowed and trembled with happiness.

"Th-Thank you… Thank you so much…"

* * *

Priam's brave warriors accepted their loss with grace. As Priam mightily declared over the feast table: "It is through defeat that a true warrior shows his character—and from it, learns the most!"

It was with those words that a long night of festivities began.

As Emmeryn expected, it took no time at all for drunkenness to take hold of many of the celebrators, Shepherds and Radiants alike. As usual, Emmeryn did not partake, but enjoyed the positive atmosphere.

After a long while of eating in the town hall, Emmeryn wandered outside. She was pleasantly surprised to find more jollity occurring outside the building, and as she looked around, she realized most of the town was infested with Shepherd and Radiant partygoers.

She smiled; weary though she was, she was happy to explore and see what the others were… um…

 _Oh, no hiding it from myself,_ she thought. _I just want to, um… Eavesdrop, that's the word. Haven't done that in a while._

She giggled a little bit at her own honesty.

* * *

She passed by the two peg—er, by Cynthia and Sumia, as she walked.

"And when you did that thing with the Luna lance! That was so _cool!"_ chirped Cynthia excitedly.

"Hee hee… Thanks, Cynthia," Sumia replied pleasantly. "You were impressive, too… a more capable Pegasus Knight than I could ever be."

"What! There you go again, Mom, with the underselling! Haven't we talked about this before?"

"Yeah, I know, but you're just so talented, Cynthia. If it weren't for the whole tripping thing—"

Both of them stopped to search the ground, and then gradually continued walking, assured that the ground was clear of items to trip over.

"…If it weren't for the tripping thing, I'd swear we weren't related. I'd think you were Cordelia's daughter…"

"Haha! Don't let Severa hear you say that, you'd get an earful of tsundere." Then, Cynthia frowned. "Wait, you think I got this good on _talent?_ Nuh-uh! I worked for _years_ to try to _match_ the skill level of my legendary mother! Any time you've ever broke a lance training, I'd broken two! Any time you've stumbled, I'd fallen flat on my face!" She put her hands on her hips. "So you better not sell yourself short, Mother! You were-slash-will be the one who raised me to be the Falcon Knight you see today. Anything I ever do is thanks to you, so really, I'm the one who should be all insecure and junk!"

"Cynthia…" Sumia smiled. "You're such a nice girl. I'm proud to be your mother."

Cynthia beamed, saluting. "It's what I do!"

* * *

Emmeryn now listened to a brunette girl chattering away with a younger blonde.

"Nah, our teamwork has been on _point_ the last few weeks," the brunette exclaimed excitedly. "We are _so_ ready to kick some Fell butt!"

"I think so, too," said Nah. "You were exceptional yourself, Morgan."

"Was I the one with the crazy dragon kung fu action?" Morgan replied. "Nope, that was you. You knocked everyone's socks off today! Even Dad said he was impressed."

Nah blushed intensely. "R-Really? He… He said that?"

"Uh-huh!" Morgan held out a fist. "For all your hard work and badassery, I'm officially inviting you into the Justice Cabal, pal!"

Nah slowly fist-bumped Morgan. "The Justice Cabal? Isn't that just a club comprised of you, Owain, and Cynthia?" Nah's eyebrows furrowed skeptically. "I dunno if…"

"Oh, don't you worry, you're _totally_ worthy of joining!" Morgan giggled and continued to walk ahead.

"…I dunno if I _want_ to join that," Nah muttered under her breath, and then followed her friend.

* * *

Emmeryn sleepily closed her door behind her. The village here was more than happy to accommodate the Shepherds during their stay, and Emmeryn looked forward to resting in a bed again rather than in a sleeping bag.

She dressed herself in lighter attire and flopped down on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

She could still hear distant festivities elsewhere in town. As much fun as she had had, she was happy to call an early night from them.

A tiny smile grew on her exhausted face. _This feels like… home._

She drifted to sleep.

* * *

 _December 16th:_

 _We are currently in Chon'sin, the homeland of one of our own: Say'ri. I'd heard the name before, but it wasn't until I spoke with her that the name clicked._

 _I was more than pleased to learn that she had not only survived her encounter with the Valmese, but she even met up with Ylisse with little issue and successfully ran a campaign to overthrow Walhart the Conqueror._

 _Which brings up another question: why on Earth is the Conqueror himself in our party? I have not spoken with him—he keeps to himself, and in general is intimidating—and I suppose, if I did, I wouldn't know what to say… "You bastard, how could you take Jeremiah from me?" "How could you let my father die?" … Perhaps it's best we didn't speak._

 _And on that other thought, about Say'ri… I hesitate to imagine how different things would be if, back in July, the pirates had not turned tail and abandoned Say'ri's cause? Would they be alive? Would I have met Robin and the others that much sooner? Or was it their fleeing that led to them stumbling across me—and had they not, then I would have died?_

 _Would that have been a worthy trade? Their lives for mine?_

 _Hm. It's been quite a while since I've written such a fatalistic journal entry. I feel a strange mixture of nostalgia and depression._

* * *

At Emmeryn's knock, Robin opened his door. He greeted her with a half-smile. "Good evening, Emmeryn."

"Good evening." Emmeryn gestured. "May I come in…?"

"Of course." Robin stepped aside to allow her through. "Glad you came. This'll probably be our last talk before the final battle."

"Oh?" Emmeryn sat in a chair in the middle of Robin's living room. He picked one just across from her. "With Grima…?"

Robin nodded, clasping his hands in his lap. "Yep. We promised Naga we would be ready by the year's end, and I gave her the exact date as the twenty-first of December. So, in five days, she will warp us to Origin Peak—then, the following morning, we battle Grima."

Emmeryn shifted uncomfortably. "…Are you nervous?"

Robin laughed. "Am _I_ nervous? Listen, Emmeryn, I get nervous for the simplest of Risen encounters. I was nervous the day we found you, even _before_ I knew you were alive. This, though—in this battle, the world hangs in the balance. Everything we've fought for has culminated here. …I've lost sleep over much less." He gestured around, indicating the other Shepherds in the surrounding buildings. "The others are also quieter, it seems. Everyone's pensive. Most everyone's spending time with their families… those who aren't too busy." He pursed his lips.

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," said Robin. "You've done nothing wrong, Emmeryn. As always."

"As always…" Emmeryn mulled over the words for a brief moment. "Robin… Tell me… Tell me how I died."

Robin blinked. "Are you… serious?"

She nodded.

"Okay." Robin took a breath. "So… many, many years ago—long before any time I can remember—your father…" He trailed off, collecting his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Emmeryn gathered hers as well. When he mentioned her father, John immediately sprung to mind—but she quashed the thought. She did not want to think of her losses right now. What she _did_ want to think of was what her true father looked like. Was he blonde, like Emmeryn or Lissa, or did he have blue hair, like Chrom? What sort of a man would father these great people?

"Your father was… kind of an asshole."

Emmeryn blinked, stunned not only at his bluntness, but at his choice of words. The John in her made her cringe at the swear. "Wh-What?"

Robin grimaced. "Sorry to say it, but from every story I've heard, he was… terrible. A ruthless tyrant, eager to wage war with the neighboring Plegia. And Chrom refuses to speak of how the man was as a father, so that gives me every answer I need."

Emmeryn was dumbfounded. "You… can't be…" She looked up into his eyes. "How did Chrom and Lissa… turn out so well?"

Robin laughed and shrugged. "I really have no idea, but it's a miracle, don't you think? That not only would Chrom and Lissa turn out as good, _good_ people, but that _you_ would also appear. Now, this is a great segue into the next part of the story: your father's death, and your subsequent inheritance of the title of Exalt."

Emmeryn already felt thoroughly uncomfortable, but nodded at him to go ahead. She wrapped herself up in a blanket nearby, for, you know, security.

"So. You are the new Exalt, at barely ten years old. Ylisse has just come out of a five-year crusade against Plegia, which left not only Plegia in shambles, but also the victorious Ylisse. Now, people… people _hated_ you. Hated… your legacy, your blood. Hated the Exalt, for everything your father had done." Robin's expression became ever grimmer. "Chrom once told me that… people would fling rocks at you. That, once, one actually connected with your forehead, leaving a little…" Robin leaned forward, brushing Emmeryn's hair aside and touching her temple with his thumb. "A little scar…" Robin leaned back, and Emmeryn straightened her hair anxiously. Her skin tingled where he had touched her. "But you were the bigger person, Emmeryn. For years— _years_ , almost your entire life so far—you traveled far and wide, preaching nothing but peace. When people threw rocks, you smiled and weathered them. When you were hurt, you forgave. And, in time, the people dropped their weapons, let go of their hatred, and loved you, just as you loved them. And that was when Ylisse healed." Robin took a shaky breath. "Against all odds—even against your brother, who never held the same love in his heart and could not understand—you persevered, and spread love across the country. Your rule was truly a golden age for Ylisse; in the generations to come, people will look back and say, 'we should strive to return to the Age of Emmeryn.'"

So much to process. Emmeryn cringed under the weight of this new responsibility. "But…" She thought of an expression she had heard long, long ago: "All good things…"

"…Must come to an end, yes," Robin finished grimly. "Though it was a golden age for Ylisse, Plegia was still the loser of its past war with Ylisse, and had never truly recovered, even fifteen years postbellum. Tension between Ylisse and Plegia never healed, and where you had convinced the Ylissean people of your sanctity, the Plegians were not so sure. Skirmish after skirmish; incursion after incursion. Plegia's new king, to be known as the Mad King, Gangrel, was at the forefront of these attacks on Ylissean soil. His hatred for those who had mistreated his people new no bounds."

 _Gangrel!_ The nervous man she had met? He was the one who…?

"Eventually, things came to a head. I was found. Lucina foiled an attempt on your life. You attempted to make peace with Gangrel, for the last time: he pretended to offer parley, and you fell for the ruse, ending up captured by the enemy for your selflessness."

"And they… killed me…?"

Robin grimaced. "That's where things get complicated. Gangrel was being manipulated by Aversa—"

 _Wait, don't I know that name too?_

"—who was being manipulated by Validar, who had intentions of resurrecting Grima, at which he eventually succeeded… but not at this point in time."

Emmeryn squinted, concentrating hard. "Er… why not?"

"Gangrel had you on a cliff," Robin said slowly. He didn't seem to trust himself to speak faster. Emmeryn could feel his emotions in the way he spoke; she felt almost guilty for asking him to tell this story, but her curiosity refused to relent. "He offered Chrom an ultimatum: hand over the Fire Emblem, to be used to resurrect Grima, or… sacrifice you, and keep the Emblem."

Emmeryn's breathing quickened. _No,_ she thought. _No, he didn't. He wouldn't. Chrom wouldn't do that. …Or…_

"Emmeryn…" Robin murmured. "I want to be completely honest with you. Chrom didn't want to sacrifice you, but I urged him to reconsider. _I_ was going to sacrifice you for the Fire Emblem. It wasn't Chrom."

The air left Emmeryn's lungs. "R-Robin… You… You…"

The last two years of her life flashed before her. Everything she remembered. The desert. The harbors. The pirates. The village. All because of…

Robin interrupted her thoughts. "But… Emmeryn, Chrom was persuasive. In that moment, he convinced me, down to my very core, that you were worth the world. So it wasn't me, either."

Emmeryn's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "Then…"

"We made our decision, Emmeryn," continued Robin. "We chose to hand the Fire Emblem to Gangrel, in exchange for your return. Better to save the definite life before us than a thousand hypothetical ones."

"But—"

"But you didn't let us choose, Emmeryn. You didn't let us. You gave an impassioned speech for all of Plegia to hear, and you leapt to your death."

Emmeryn looked down at her hands. Four of them danced before her eyes. _It was me,_ she thought numbly. _I made this choice._

"Your noble sacrifice took the will to fight from the Plegian people." Robin's voice was soft. "They deserted. By the thousands, Gangrel's army abandoned their king. When only his most devout followers remained, we struck, and we ended the war, avenging you and bringing a peace that lasted over a year and a half."

Emmeryn finally summoned forth the energy to speak. "…Oh."

"Your sacrifice… shook the continent," Robin murmured. "Plegia devoted itself to reconstruction. Ylisse built shrines in your memory. Regna Ferox, uh… drank." He chuckled. "For a while, Chrom refused to adopt the title of Exalt, in memory of you. 'Emmeryn was the last Exalt,' he'd tell me. Heh… But he accepted eventually. He realized that it wasn't fair to his people to leave them without their beacon. Chrom always thought he could never achieve the standard you set, but from that day onward, he dedicated himself to trying. He set himself on a path to discover and uphold the love you had held not only for Ylisse, but for _everyone._ Chrom was a changed man; I think, for the better."

Emmeryn took a long breath, focusing; she then smiled up at Robin. "Thank you, Robin… I really appreciate… that you told me this story."

"You deserved to know," he said, smiling back. "I'm glad we talked about it."

"So…" Emmeryn began. "The story ends… with Grima."

Robin turned serious, nodding. "Exactly. When Grima has fallen, everything is put to rest."

"And what of after?" Emmeryn said. "Life… continues."

Robin laughed, surprisingly genuinely. Emmeryn smiled in kind, happy to elicit the reaction. "Heheh! Yeah, you're right, it sure does," he chuckled. "Life will definitely go on, and so will our responsibilities. Everyone has a life to return to once we've reached peace."

"Yes," said Emmeryn thoughtfully. "Lissa will return to Ylisstol, with Vaike…"

Robin decided to partake in the fantasy, smiling wistfully. "Chrom and Maribelle will raise their children… Lucina is almost two, and when Brady is born, they'll really have their hands full."

"And Donnel… will return to his farm," Emmeryn added. "He speaks of it often…"

"And he'll take Olivia with him… she'll charm his hometown with her dances. Maybe she'll even get over her insecurities for them."

Emmeryn giggled. After a second, Robin laughed as well.

Emmeryn slowly settled into a somber expression. "And… as for me…"

She thought of her jewel-studded silver crown, and frowned sadly. She would miss it.

"I… do not wish to return… as Exalt." She watched Robin's expression carefully.

"Well, of course," said Robin, surprising her. "It'd be a nightmare to try to reinstate you, and a bad idea in general." He started to think. "For one thing, you've already passed on the throne. It'd be unprecedented if you returned to power. For that matter, it'd be bad for us if anyone even knew you were _alive._ Your sacrifice was a really big deal, Emm, and if you actually survived, that might undermine some of the meaning of it. Not everyone knows you like we do, where we're just happy to have you with us; for many others, you're this… concept, this _idea._ The very picture of selflessness, the greatest person to have ever lived." The gears in his mind were whirring. "We'd have to… probably, uh… disguise you, give you a new name, maybe…" He frowned thoughtfully, resting his chin in his hand.

Emmeryn was thoroughly amused. "We'll… cross that bridge later, I suppose."

Robin awoke, and grinned, feeling rather foolish. "Yeah, I guess so."

Emmeryn's smile slowly disappeared. "Wait… wait, you called me Emm…"

Robin blinked, thinking back to his earlier sentences. "Huh."

Emmeryn beamed. "You called me Emm! You did…! Please… make that a habit."

"I'm not really…" Robin sighed. "I'm not really one for pet names."

"Pet name…? No, it's… a nickname," Emmeryn insisted. "Before… when I had a different name… my fa—er, a friend… a friend would call me Em. It's a constant for me… and I'd appreciate it if you'd humor me."

Robin softened. "John."

Emmeryn was suddenly, jarringly reminded of the fact that Robin had read her journal. "Y-Yes… it was John, my… father."

"Your father…" Robin was suddenly struck by somberness. "Emmeryn… I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been so callous earlier, about your real—er, your _biological_ father."

"It's fine…" Emmeryn murmured. "I had a father, once… It would be selfish to have two."

Robin grimaced. "Yeah… I guess I should be jealous. I've never had a father."

"…Oh." Emmeryn frowned sadly. "So… you do not have a family?"

"Well—not really a biological family," said Robin. "My father was an evil psychopath, and I never knew my mother. All I have are the Shepherds, and the ones that I love."

"The… ones that you love?"

Emmeryn felt a dirty, sinking feeling in her heart. She was disgusted with herself for feeling that way.

"Yes…" Robin's expression softened into a nostalgic smile. "I have a wife, and two children. Both of my children are from the future, though; I have no kids of my own to speak of."

Emmeryn forced a smile for him. "You love them…"

"Yes," said Robin. "My wife, Sumia… she is the most perfect girl in the world. Imagining a life without her is… is… inconceivable."

 _Sumia._ Emmeryn trembled, her hands involuntary clutching the arms of her chair. She should've known.

After a brief moment of silence, she realized she was frozen in that position. She immediately straightened up, mortified at her reaction.

But Robin hadn't noticed. In fact, he was in a similar state, so jarring that Emmeryn was taken aback. His shoulders were slackened, and his smile had disappeared entirely, replaced by a nihilistic stare into the ground. "They are all my family," he said emotionlessly. "Every Shepherd. I love them all, and I would do anything—" he suddenly stared up into Emmeryn's eyes, a fiery determination in his own; "— _anything,_ to protect them."

Though Robin's bearing was off-putting, Emmeryn was more profoundly moved by the words. "E-Everyone…?"

Robin nodded, and only now did Emmeryn realize how deeply his demeanor had changed: he now sat rigidly, as if uncomfortable, and his expression was so far gone from his former high spirits that Emmeryn feared she would not see that side of him again.

"Wh… What's… wrong?" she whispered fearfully.

Robin looked away, and though his expression remained that of a statue, Emmeryn saw by the clench of his jaw that something ominous troubled him—something ominous indeed. It was the same look to appear in the back of his eyes every time they would speak, yet now it was wholly at the forefront. "I cannot tell you, Your Holiness," he said; his use of her title was terrifyingly dissonant. "Mine is a secret that will follow me to the grave."

"Th-The grave…?"

"I have a plan." His eyes glanced sideways at her, though his body was still positioned facing away. "A plan to destroy Grima once and for all. That's… all I can say…"

Suddenly, Robin was on his feet, quickly approaching Emmeryn. She watched numbly as he prostrated himself before her, grasping both her hands in his own and burying his face in her lap.

"Exalt Emmeryn!" he gasped, his voice overflowing with emotion, in stark contrast to his manner of speech mere moments before. "You, above all other people, are the greatest proof that miracles _do_ exist in this world!" He looked up at her, and, to her surprise and horror, tears streamed from the powerful tactician's eyes. "Forgive me, but you can never, _ever_ tell Chrom!" He squeezed her hands. "Promise me, Emmeryn!"

"Tell him… what?" Emmeryn asked. At Robin's pitiful display, she could not fight tears herself, and cried in spite of her ignorance.

"Just do it!" urged Robin, closing his eyes tightly and pressing his forehead against her knuckles. "You must promise!"

This was the moment she had dreaded. She had never consciously confronted this idea, but in the back of her mind, it had always festered, ever since the moment she had learned of her true identity.

Whom did she truly consider to be family?

 _"Remember, Girl: family is something that's earned. It doesn't have to be blood relatives. It can transcend that."_

Emmeryn could still see the merchant's wry grin in her mind's eye, even after all this time. She made her choice. "I… I promise, Robin," she said firmly, in spite of the glistening tears in her eyes. "I promise… your secret is safe with me."

Robin looked up at her, smiling. His eyes were now red, and his flesh, pale, and unlike every other time she had seen his smile, she could tell, without a doubt, that this was forced.

"Thank you, Emmeryn. Thank you."

He took a deep, rasping breath, readying himself for the powerful words to come. He had told no one of his plan, and to finally speak it out loud… it would be a trying moment for his resolve to carry it out.

"I…" he began slowly. "I have figured out how Grima works… and I won't bore you with the details," he chuckled humorlessly in a vain attempt to ease the thick tension, before settling back into his serious expression; "but I have discovered the way to end the threat of Grima for all eternity."

After her years of hardship and toil, Emmeryn was well-acquainted with the concept of 'too good to be true.' "And…?"

"The only way to kill him… once and for all… is if I do it," Robin explained. "Grima and I are one and the same, separated only by time. If I were to strike the finishing blow… Grima would fade into nothingness, for all eternity: utterly dead."

Emmeryn's breathing was heavy and loud in her ears. Blood pumped through her in the agony of waiting.

"But… Grima and I are one and the same, separated only by time." Robin took another shivering breath. "If I were to kill Grima… I would disappear as well. Forever. Utterly dead, just as Grima."

 _"No!"_ Emmeryn exclaimed, her tears running anew. She threw her arms around Robin's neck, sobbing into his shoulder. "No—you can't! If you die, I…!"

She shouldn't have. She knew it, but she did it anyway.

Tears ran down her face, blinding her. She didn't care.

She pressed her lips against Robin's.

It had been so long.

…

She sobbed in between kisses, shaking and crying as she held Robin tight. She thought of all the people who had died for her, and how selfish she had been in hating them for doing so.

She was the biggest hypocrite of all. What right had she to demand that others live, when she herself robbed Chrom and Robin of that choice?

She continued to kiss Robin with tear-moistened lips, and she thought of Jeremiah. The only other person to treat her so kindly, to… treat her this way…

Strong hands gripped her shoulders, gently prying her off. With Emmeryn back at arm's length, Robin grimly stood, returned to his chair, and sat, facing Emmeryn.

In the long pause that followed, Emmeryn wiped her tears with childlike imprecision, hanging her head and hating herself. She felt foolish and immature, and would kill for one of those fabled rocks to knock her unconscious right about now.

Robin leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. He stared at Emmeryn with penetrating eyes for an eternity. Emmeryn could not meet his gaze.

Finally, he broke the silence with a word: "Emmeryn."

She didn't respond, and continued staring down at her lap.

"Emmeryn, look at me."

She hesitated for a long moment. However, Robin was patient, and sure enough, she slowly looked upwards to lock eyes with him.

"I'm sorry."

Emmeryn blinked in surprise. "Wh—Why? I'm the one who…" She trailed off.

"I wasn't sensitive to your feelings," Robin said soothingly. "I've been so caught up in myself lately that I… didn't see how you felt. I shouldn't have confessed my secret to you in such a way…"

"It's my fault," Emmeryn whispered sullenly. "You told me about… about Sumia. I shouldn't have… I overstepped my… er…" She found words failing her, and sighed, irritated.

"Emmeryn." Robin's stare was cold and intense. "I _do_ love you."

"Wh—?!"

"But it's not how you think. I've told you that I'm a people person; I've told you that I've spoken to everyone in the army. The truth is, it's not just my job. I love them all. Whether they're my wife, or my friend, or my former enemy, or my child, or… you. I love you, Emmeryn, just as I love everyone else."

Emmeryn covered her mouth, tears welling up again.

"In all your adventures, you've learned much about love," Robin mused. "Allow me to teach you the last part of it: friendship. I'm not talking about personal, one-on-one acquaintances, like you and Rjorn; I'm talking about the kind of deep, platonic friendship that unites and binds. The kind of bond I have with everyone in the army. Any one of them would die for me, and I would do the same for them. And we would die with smiles on our faces, happy to have saved the ones we love."

Emmeryn threw her hands up, frustrated. "Love is… so complicated!" Her anger began to overwhelm her self-consciousness. Even her embarrassment was gone; uninhibited, that was the word. "Robin—I haven't felt… how you make me feel… since Jer. I can't mistake this feeling… it's… um…"

"I admit," Robin interrupted, "between people of opposite sexes… it's hard not to be attracted at _some_ point… but it'll pass, Emmeryn, I promise. Someday, you'll understand exactly what I mean."

Emmeryn sniffed. "I don't _want_ to understand! I want to be _with_ you, Robin… I don't want you to die. You promised me… you promised… you'd teach me… how to speak again!"

"I lied," Robin said bluntly. "You can't ask me to stay, Emmeryn." She already knew why. "It's my choice to make, just as it was yours back then."

"I will never forgive you," Emmeryn snapped. She jabbed a pointer finger out at him, which she held surprisingly steady. "…And neither will Sumia."

Emmeryn's final words seemed to finally reach Robin. He leaned back slightly, his lips parted in surprise. "Emmeryn…"

"Sumia will never forgive you," Emmeryn pressed. "And neither will your children. You can't leave us alone, Robin… You can't!"

Robin pursed his lips. "Chrom and Lissa suffered through two years of grieving because of your last choice. I'll never forgive you for what you put them through."

"All the more reason!" Emmeryn shouted. "Would you put them through a lifetime more?! If you leave, you—you'll never see peace in this world! You'll never see home again! You'll never have _children!"_

"I don't need any of those!" Robin shouted, standing. "All I want is for everyone I love to be _safe!_ If one person makes sacrifices, so be it!"

Emmeryn was flabbergasted. "…No, _you_ are the hypocrite! You insult my choice, and say it was wrong—yet you make the same one! You think your sacrifice honorable—yet mine only brought pain? Robin! See the logic! I will never, _ever_ forgive you! _Ever!"_

She panted, not realizing she had been nearly screaming. Her words rang in the air.

She leaned back in her chair and loosened her grip on the armrests, trying to calm down.

Robin slowly sat down. His expression had hardened into stone. "I don't need your forgiveness, Emmeryn. I don't need Sumia's either. I've done nothing to deserve it."

"Wha…" Emmeryn panted. "…What?"

Robin grimaced. He clutched his hand over his heart, grasping his robe. "There's… a guilt, constantly eating at me; it afflicts me every day, every _moment._ If anyone knew… they would hate me, run me from the Shepherds. I could not possibly reveal this secret to anyone; not even you, Emmeryn."

"What kind of… what kind of secret could it possibly be?" For someone as well-liked as Robin to hold a secret so dark…?

"I've left no hints," said Robin. "No clues. When I go to fight Grima, my secret dies with me. And I mean it this time."

"Robin," Emmeryn murmured. She stood, and she approached, and she knelt before him, taking his hands; a perfect mirror of their earlier situation. "Robin, we love you. I don't care what the secret is. Not one bit. What I want—what we all want—is you, with us." She realized their faces were very close. If she kissed him now, he would have no time to resist.

She whispered, at the bottom of her breath, "I love you, Robin. _Stay."_

Robin looked into Emmeryn's eyes. He imagined a different world: one where he threw his inhibitions away, took this girl into his arms, and kissed her to his heart's content. A pleasant, thoughtless thought.

Emmeryn didn't know what she expected. She sat there, looking up into Robin's eyes, a longing in her own. A longing to be… needed?... Loved. A hope that he would make the decision for her, and kiss her…

But she was not a base creature. Her hands slinked away from his, she stood, and she turned away, walking towards the door.

"E-Emmeryn," Robin stammered.

She hesitated, looking over her shoulder at him sadly.

Robin's mouth hung half-open. He had no idea why he'd spoken. He didn't know where his sentence was going.

She tilted her head. "…Think about what I said… please."

Robin processed her words, dissecting them piece-by-piece to get them through his head.

He finally understood, and he nodded.

"I will. I'll… consider it."

She smiled. A beautiful smile. "Thank you, Robin… Thank you."

Emmeryn left. His door softly closed behind her.

Robin buried his face in his hands. _Just when I think I'm over this damn dilemma… something else comes up that keeps me from deciding._ He looked up, staring at the door. _Well, I've got to choose soon… or Chrom will choose for me._

* * *

 _December 21st:_

 _As Robin said during our… final conversation, the Divine Dragon God, Naga, has warped us to Origin Peak._

 _I have heard tales of Grima's might—but when the dragon is visible on the far horizon as a massive silhouette, even when halfway across the ocean, I can see for myself what all the dread and despair was about. The importance of Lucina's time-traveling, as well as that of our mission, is finally apparent to me._

 _Today, there was very little for me to do. A relatively small party will be fielded during the final battle tomorrow, and I do not blame Robin for not including me. I'm inexperienced, so, especially considering the high stakes at hand, I would not field me either._

 _Robin, Chrom, and other higher-ranking Shepherds have been discussing tactics all day, and many other Shepherds have also disappeared from the rest of camp to discuss plans with Robin one-on-one._

 _By that evening, I was thoroughly fed up with waiting. Figuring that by this point, Robin was finished talking to the others—most of them were sleeping, after all—I'd have one last conversation with him before the final battle._

* * *

Emmeryn's pace slowed down as she neared Robin's tent. She could hear voices coming from within—one voice being a girl's.

Emmeryn concentrated, straining to listen. _Is that…_

Her question was immediately answered when Cynthia stepped out of Robin's tent, a tiny smile on her face.

Emmeryn watched curiously as Cynthia's smile slowly died, and tears began to form in her eyes. The pegasus knight wiped her eyes once and fled the scene.

Robin suddenly burst out of his tent, looking in either direction. "Cyn—Cynthia!" he called. He took a step forward, and then noticed Emmeryn.

Emmeryn approached. "What just happened…?" she murmured, concerned.

Robin panted, still looking around in search of his daughter. Over the course of the next few seconds, she watched him catch his breath, straighten up, and lose all emotion from his face.

After that long moment, he finally turned to Emmeryn and answered. "It's nothing, Emmeryn. Why are you here? You aren't fighting tomorrow."

His harsh delivery made Emmeryn flinch. "R-Robin, I just…"

"I don't need these distractions." Robin turned away. "Get some sleep."

She wordlessly watched him return to his tent. Her mouth slightly open in surprise and hurt, she returned to her tent as well.

Robin peeked out of his tent flap, watching her leave. When she was gone, he sighed to himself and turned around. "What just happened is, Cynthia made my decision for me." He gritted his teeth. "All doubts are gone." He looked back over his shoulder. "I understand, now, Chrom's sentiment. His refusal to let you fight… You're our miracle, Emmeryn. You're our one-in-a-million chance. I have to preserve you… or what hope do I have?"

* * *

 _December 22nd_

Robin blocked out Chrom's voice, and Lucina's, and Sumia's, and Morgan's, and Cynthia's, and Emmeryn's, and he struck the fell dragon down.

* * *

The battle-weary Shepherds stood atop Origin Peak, eager for a return to their camp at the base of the mountain, having endured a half-day of combat. In the meantime, they listened on to the words of the Dragon God.

"His heart and Grima's were inexorably linked," Naga murmured soothingly. She watched Chrom's expression with pity. "Thanks to Robin's sacrifice, Grima is no longer bound to his slumber, to return in a thousand years… he is dead. Absolutely."

"He should have _told_ me," Chrom muttered through clenched teeth. He fell to a knee and punched the dirt. "Why didn't he say anything?! We could've figured out a different solution, _together!"_

"Awakener… be at peace," said Naga. "Through Robin's sacrifice, the world is now free of the threat of Grima, for all eternity… his selflessness was truly incredible. And to think, he thought of the solution on his own…"

"Is there no way to resurrect him?" Chrom looked up into the goddess's peaceful eyes. "Is he truly gone, forever?"

Naga hesitated for an uncomfortably long moment. "…Perhaps… through the strength of his bonds with all of you, there is the tiniest of chances that he could return to this world… but I would not give you false hope. The chance is… infinitesimal."

"But there is a chance," Chrom challenged. "Robin was a friend to each and every Shepherd—we all love him, and he loved all of us. There is no stronger a bond than the one we share with him."

"Then _believe,"_ Naga urged. "Hold that love close to your heart, and believe in Robin's strength. If your bonds are as strong as you say, then trust in him, and, perhaps, that small chance will come true."

"I will," Chrom asserted. He looked at those around him, and at their determined expressions, he grinned and nodded. "We all will, Your Grace. Thank you, for all you have done for us."

"The thanks are all mine," Naga said, with a pacifistic smile. "The Awakener, and all who follow him, are the true heroes on this day. I—nay, the world, owe you everything. Tomorrow, I shall return you to Ylisstol, where you may finally celebrate the grand victory of today. May you be at peace."

The Divine Dragon God disappeared into the sky.

* * *

The Shepherds were now fully reunited at the base of Origin Peak, and as expected from the great victory, celebrations ran amok in the camp. Cherche even cooked the victory feast—a very special treat indeed.

However, this was no victory for Emmeryn. Not only was Robin now dead, but it was for a cause in which she had little investment. The war she had not fought in was now over, and she was supposed to be happy? If Ardri had not come to her village, she would never have known nor cared of this conflict.

 _What a joke,_ she thought bitterly, as she aimlessly walked through the outer parts of camp—far from any festivities. _What a damn joke._ _'Maybe this time it'll be different. Maybe family isn't as temporary as I thought.'_ She shook her head. _I was right. All along, I was right._ _And I refused to believe it._

She suddenly heard voices ahead—loud ones. She ducked behind a nearby tent and began to listen.

She slowly peeked around the corner to get a good look at the arguers.

"Mom! Mom, _please!"_ Cynthia was crying; she tried to latch onto Sumia's arm, but Sumia coldly shook her off, a look of sharp rage on her face. _"Mom!"_

Cynthia fell to her knees, sobbing. "I'm sorry! I'm _sorry!"_

Sumia whirled on her daughter. "Y-You're _sorry?!_ You think you can fix this by _apologizing?!"_

Emmeryn recoiled, startled. She had never seen Sumia this angry before, and instantly felt bad for Cynthia.

"This is _unforgivable,_ Cynthia!" Sumia shouted. "You basically convinced him to sacrifice himself! …If it weren't for you, Robin would have second-guessed himself, and he would still be here! Because of that stupid little speech you gave him, _your father is dead!"_

Sumia choked on her last word, a hand coming up to her mouth as tears began to flow. Without another word, she turned and ran away from Cynthia.

Emmeryn watched Cynthia from the shadows for a long moment, pity growing within her for the girl.

She couldn't blame Sumia. Deep down, a piece of Emmeryn was content to stand there and watch Cynthia get eaten alive by her guilt. This was the girl who had convinced Robin to go through with his plan, where Emmeryn had once cast seeds of doubt. Cynthia deserved all the guilt she felt.

But… Emmeryn watched Cynthia dive deeper and deeper into despair, and she saw a piece of herself in the young pegasus knight. She saw the grief, and knew that, whatever it was that Cynthia had said, it had held pure intentions. Whatever Cynthia had said, it was out of love for her father.

Cynthia's cries began to slowly soften, and she trembled far less violently. She hiccupped once, wiped her eyes, and picked herself up. She turned and walked in the opposite direction of Sumia.

Emmeryn grimaced. _Poor thing…_

She followed Robin's daughter.

* * *

Emmeryn frowned curiously as she approached. She found Cynthia standing alone in front of Morgan's tent with her hands on the tent flap; her eyes were red and wide, and she seemed extremely hesitant.

All the signs of someone about to do something risky.

"Cynthia?" Emmeryn said, finally making herself known. She held a look of concern in her eyes.

Cynthia jumped, startled, and turned to the newcomer. "L-Lady Emmeryn! Hi." She wiped her eyes and produced a forced version of her usual bright smile. "What's up?"

"I overheard…" Emmeryn said, gesturing behind her. "You and Sumia…"

Cynthia dropped her pretense. "Y-You did?" She grimaced. "That's… I'm sorry, Lady Emmeryn. I know you and Father were close, but… could you… keep this a secret, please?"

Emmeryn smiled and nodded. "Of course, Cynthia." She had no intention of making a pariah of this girl.

Cynthia let out a relieved breath, nodding. "Thank you."

Emmeryn gestured at Morgan's tent curiously. "What's this about…?"

Cynthia briefly pursed her lips. "Th-This? This is nothing. Just… sayin' "hey" to my sister."

Emmeryn's eyes narrowed skeptically.

Cynthia bowed under the pressure. She was never a good liar. "Okay, okay… it's… it's about what I told my dad. That's all, okay? It's my business." She gestured in the out-of-camp direction. "I'm… leaving, like I promised him."

"Leaving?" Emmeryn said, surprised. She quickly put two and two together. "You told him you'd leave…?"

"Yeah," said Cynthia anxiously. She still had a hand waiting on the tent flap. Her palms were sweating. "And—now that I… killed Dad, and alienated Mom… there's no better time."

"You did not kill Robin," said Emmeryn sternly. "He made that choice… on his own."

"Whatever," Cynthia sighed. "It's the same difference. My crappy timing ruined everything."

Emmeryn gestured at the tent. "You were going to… take Morgan with you?"

"Yeah," the pegasus knight grimly replied. "I can't leave alone. I can't make it. I need her with me."

"…You're… forcing your problems on her," Emmeryn said. "You would do that…?"

"We're not the _real_ children!" Cynthia exclaimed. "We _aren't!_ We're—facsimiles from the future, not the little ones that our parents will love and raise! I've only known my parents since July! _Ju-freaking-ly!"_ She pressed her palm against her chest. _"My_ parents are dead—I don't get to hog these new ones, _and neither does anyone else!"_

Cynthia panted angrily. Emmeryn was momentarily stunned speechless.

Much more calmly, Cynthia continued. "I'm taking Morgan with me. You can't stop me, Emmeryn. You aren't my mother. …And I suppose it wouldn't matter if you were."

"Cynthia," Emmeryn murmured. Her voice was very soft; she stared into Cynthia's hateful eyes with nothing but peace in her own. "I understand how you feel… the loss… it's a consuming pain, and all you want is to be gone, just like them. But if you leave…" She took a breath. "If you leave, Sumia will _never_ forgive you. She _can_ be convinced… Your relationship _can_ heal… but not if you leave."

Cynthia maintained the same aggressive expression, but betrayed a crack in her wall with a sniff.

"Your mother loves you," continued Emmeryn, "and so does your sister… Think of the loss they would feel if you left." She gently pressed her index finger against Cynthia's sternum. "Think of _yourself._ Think… of all you would lose."

Cynthia's expression, piece by piece, gave way to tears. She broke down, and Emmeryn embraced her, resting her head atop Cynthia's.

"Shh," Emmeryn whispered. "Don't cry, love… Don't cry…"

Emmeryn smiled warmly, with maternal love, as she held the weeping Cynthia in her arms.

"Mmph…" The tent flap moved, revealing Morgan sleepily rubbing her eyes. "Geez, what're you guys yelling about…?"

"Just gimme a hug," Cynthia sobbed. Morgan shrugged and joined in.

* * *

 _December 23rd_

Ylisstol was practically rioting in celebrations. The Shepherds were in the thick of it, dancing and drinking and partying and having a good time.

Emmeryn brushed aside her curtain, looking through her window in the castle down onto this city. The otherwise-silent walls of her room trembled from the raucous festivities below.

She smiled down on the city, happy for them.

Though she herself had not cried yesterday, she felt a sort of relief by proxy when comforting Cynthia. Even yesterday's mourners had mostly seen the light and joined the festivities, and Emmeryn's grief was alleviated for the moment, but she still was in no mood for partying. In her room she would stay.

She rested her elbow on the windowsill, and her chin in her palm. From her high-up window, she could see most of the city stretch out before her; the Ylissean people were as colorful ants below.

 _So this is home,_ she thought. _What a… shiny place._

A brief knock at her door pulled her from thought. "It's open," she said.

Surprisingly, in stepped her brother, with a tired look on his face. "Hey, Emm," Chrom said wearily, and took a seat at the table in the corner of her room. "How're you doing?"

"Fine," Emmeryn replied. She moved from her spot at the window to sit across from him at the table. "What brings you here…?"

"I haven't had the luxury of celebration," said Chrom. "It's been logistics, logistics, logistics. Is everyone accounted for; is every _thing_ accounted for; is everyone debriefed…" He shook his head, sighing. "It's a nightmare. How did Robin do all this on his own?"

"I suppose… that's why he passed the job onto you," Emmeryn teased.

"Heh! You're probably right." Chrom rolled a satchel off of his shoulder with a groan, and started to shuffle through it. "Anyway, after all that work, I'm just too tired to join the celebrations. It's great that the world is saved and all, but…"

Emmeryn nodded. "I understand."

"Anyway," Chrom said. He produced a long bottle from the satchel, as well as two simple glasses. "I figured I'd snatch this from the convoy while I was there."

Emmeryn inspected the bottle. "…Wine?"

"Yep." Chrom filled the two glasses and offered one to Emmeryn.

She slowly accepted it, looking down into the drink.

"Emmeryn," Chrom said, "I'm sure you don't remember, but… today's the twenty-third." He smiled. "Happy birthday."

A moment passed before that sunk in for Emmeryn. "T-Today's my birthday?" she stammered. _December twenty-third…_

"It sure is. You're twenty-seven today," Chrom said. "I thought a glass of wine would be a good start, for old times' sake." He raised his glass, and Emmeryn tapped hers against his.

Both took brief sips of the alcoholic drink. Emmeryn smiled at the nostalgic, burning taste.

"After I came of drinking age, you and I would often share a glass of wine," Chrom said nostalgically. With a chuckle, he added, "You could _not_ hold your liquor, Sis. You would make me laugh so much."

Emmeryn stared down into her beverage's rosy depths. "The drink… that tastes like laughter," she said slowly, as realization spread through her. "It was you…"

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows, smiling slightly in spite of his confusion. "What was that?"

Emmeryn smiled and shook her head. "Perhaps some other time…"

"Okay then." Chrom took another sip. "So what do you think of your room?"

"Oh, it's very nice." Emmeryn glanced over at her bed; when she had sat on it earlier, she determined it was at least fifty percent comfier than everything else ever. "It's… different, from anything I've ever…"

"Yeah," Chrom said. "Those village beds don't hold a candle to these. I'd imagine anywhere else you slept while you were missing was also pretty… er, cheap."

"Mm-hm." Emmeryn was more than happy to leave it at that.

The following moment of silence was broken by a knock at the door. "It's open," Chrom and Emmeryn said at the same time.

"Ugh!" Lissa exclaimed as she stepped in. She walked over to the table and sat in a third chair, her siblings watching her amusedly. "Gods, who knew how much people liked to party? They're crazy out there!"

"Not too crazy, I hope," said Chrom.

Lissa rolled her eyes. "No, not _too_ crazy. No need to call the No-Fun Brigade on everyone."

Chrom and Emmeryn laughed. "Here," Chrom said, pouring a glass for his younger sister. "It's a special occasion."

Lissa accepted the glass, eyeing Chrom warily. "I'm of age, you know," she said. "You don't have to 'let' me drink wine. …Buuut I appreciate the gesture." She took a small sip, and suddenly brightened up. "Oh! Happy birthday, Emm!"

Emmeryn smiled. "Thank you, Lissa."

"Welcome!" Then, Lissa gestured at the door with her thumb. "So, all that partying is pretty crazy. Celebrations are through the roof! And, yeah, I had tons of fun out there, but… in the end, it's kinda hard to be super hyped, y'know? I wish Robin could've seen this." She paused. "…I think everyone's kinda feeling like that—sad about Robin—but they're dealing with it in their own ways, y'know? Like, they aren't letting it put a damper on the party."

"That seems to… be best," said Emmeryn. "I'm glad that they are happy…"

"Yeah, me too," said Lissa. "But I just had to get away from it all, spend some quality time with the fam."

"Well, we're happy to have you," said Chrom, clinking glasses with her.

After Lissa finished a sip, she was back to her bubbly self. "So! Now that the war's over, we should totally take a vacation."

"Sorry, Sis, but that's not really an option," Chrom sighed. "I'm the Exalt. I can't just leave."

Lissa pointed at Emmeryn. "So Emm's not the Exalt? How's this all working again?"

"I'm the Exalt, and Emm's a normal person," said Chrom. "For us, we have our sister back. To the world, the last great Exalt of Ylisse is still dead."

"Ooh!" Lissa giggled, clapping her hands together excitedly. "So _mysterious!_ 'Emmeryn: sister by day, dead person by night!' How cool is _that,_ Emm?"

"Quite," Emmeryn said, and giggled slightly to herself.

"So what _are_ you gonna do now?" Lissa asked, setting her glass on the table. "Now that the world's saved, and you're not… Exalt, or M.I.A., or anything."

"I…" Emmeryn murmured. "I don't know…"

"You have a peaceful lifetime to figure that out," said Chrom with a smile, gesturing with his wineglass. "You could find work around the castle. You could brush down those bangs," he gestured at her again, "and live anonymously. You could live anywhere you want, Emm; you're a free woman. You could move to Ferox, live a normal life; maybe even find a husband, raise a family." Chrom leaned back in his chair, and stared at his drink absently. "You… never even tried, before. You never thought once for yourself; you never thought of love, or even your posterity." His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "You could change that, now. You are no longer tied down by titles or identity."

Lissa slowly nodded along. "Deeeeeeep," she said. _"Or,_ you can stay around the castle, like I will! Ylisstol is a great place to be, lemme tell ya."

"But you don't have to," Chrom insisted. "You mustn't feel tied down."

"Uggggh. You're annoying me with this whole 'selfless' thing, Chrom," Lissa said. "You're trying too hard."

Lissa faced Emmeryn, took her hands, and beamed. "Okay! Emm! You can do _whatever_ you want, now. And you pretty much have an eternity to decide. Go nuts!" She released the bemused Emmeryn and turned back to Chrom, crossing her arms. "There: was that so hard?"

Emmeryn wasn't sure which answer she liked better. Lissa's was awfully open-ended. _Whatever_ she wanted? That was a lot of things.

"I'll… stay in Ylisstol, and… mull it over, I suppose," said Emmeryn.

"G-Good," said Chrom eagerly. "Take your time, Sis. No rush."

"There you go again, bro!" Lissa groaned. "Just treat her normal-like, wouldja?"

"Normal for me is _not_ normal for you," Chrom chuckled, and both of his sisters laughed.

"True, true," Lissa admitted; then, in her laughter, she snorted.

There was a quiet pause as all three processed what had just occurred.

Then, the three siblings all burst into laughter as one, and continued to laugh until tears arose in their eyes.

Emmeryn brushed away a tear as she continued to shake with laughter.

 _So, these two are my siblings,_ she mused. She looked at Chrom, and then to Lissa.

 _So these two are my family._

Emmeryn glowed with warmth.

 _I…_

 _I miss Robin._

 _But with these two…_

 _And with the others…_

 _I still have a very real family, with me, right now._

 _My life is far from over._

Emmeryn happily shared the remainder of the wine with her brother and sister.


	7. Part VII

**VII**

* * *

 _January 20_ _th_ _:_

 _If I have done all of my math right… today marks the two-year anniversary of my awakening in the Plegian desert._

 _Hurrah?_

 _In any case, life in Ylisstol has me approaching ennui. Since the end of the war, most of the Shepherds have dispersed to every corner of the globe, and as such the castle is rather empty and lifeless. I try to imagine the festivities held on my birthday last month (not to mention the following week of celebrations), and I almost laugh at the difference._

 _In short, I'm rather… tired of sitting around. It's time I make something productive of all this free time._

* * *

Emmeryn walked into Chrom's office, knocking on his open door as she did so.

Chrom looked up from the papers before him, furrowing his eyebrows at her. "Hey, Emm. What brings you here?"

"I'm going to go on a trip," said Emmeryn, trying to inject confidence in her voice. "Today." In truth, her palms sweated in fear of refusal, or at least concern. Chrom was a worrier.

Sure enough, she got concern. "…Really?" He pushed his paperwork aside and gave her his full attention. "Why? And where to?"

"It's… something personal," Emmeryn replied evasively. "I intend to travel… around the world. I may be gone for a long time…"

Chrom rested his chin in his hand, thinking. "I suppose, if you're taking a world tour, you might be gone for _months,"_ he said.

Emmeryn frowned. "Er… y-yes, but…"

"Well, Ylisstol will miss you." Chrom smiled and stood. "I'll assign a guard to accompany you—just for your protection. Safe travels, Sister."

Emmeryn slowly smiled. "Um… Thank you, Chrom."

"I'll go ahead and grab that guard." Chrom gestured her to follow him out of the room. "Are you packed?"

"M-Mostly."

"Well, you should go finish up," said Chrom. "Meet me at the front entrance whenever you're ready."

* * *

Emmeryn counted every piece of clothing once again, and smiled slightly when she closed the bag. _Adventure,_ she thought to herself. A chill ran down her spine. It had been a very long time.

She lifted the bag, and as she was walking out of her room, she caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror.

She hesitated, watching her reflection.

Emmeryn slowly stepped closer to the mirror. It wasn't often that she used this, despite having one in her room, so her own appearance still surprised her at times.

Her eyes listed upward, settling on the mark on her forehead.

The Brand of the Exalt…

Emmeryn pursed her lips, and she slowly adjusted her hair, re-adopting the bangs she had long ago given up. She buried the Brand under her hair; she wouldn't need it where she was going.

* * *

Two figures stood by the horse-drawn carriage at the castle gate. One was unmistakably Chrom, currently loading several bags' worth of luggage into the back of the cart.

As for the other, Emmeryn tilted her head curiously. "…Sir Frederick?" She was surprised to find him without his armor—civilian clothes seemed not to suit him.

Frederick's hands were clasped behind his back, as always. He brought forth a patient smile for her as she approached. "Good morning, milady. I will be accompanying you during your trip."

Emmeryn blinked. "Oh," she said. "I see…"

"Problem?" Chrom asked, as he took her bag and loaded it onto the carriage.

"No, of course not," said Emmeryn sincerely. "But is he not the knight captain…?"

"My duty, first and foremost, has always been the protection of the exalted bloodline," said Sir Frederick. "Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa are both quite safe here at home, with the remainder of the Shepherds and Ylisse's knights. If you intend to travel, then it would be my honor as a knight to accompany you." He pressed his hand against his chest and bowed. "If you would have me, of course."

"The honor is all mine." Emmeryn offered her hand with a smile. "A pleasure… to finally work with you, Sir Frederick."

Frederick gently, yet firmly, shook her hand. "I understand your mission is a personal one. Well, fear not of my intrusion; I will be as your shadow."

"All set," Chrom said, and he faced his sister and his knight with a smile. "Enjoy yourself, Emm. I know ol' Frederick can ensure your safety, but he can't make sure that you have a good time. That part's up to you."

"I'll… try," said Emmeryn. She stepped closer and hugged her brother. "Stay safe…"

"You too." Chrom backed away and watched them board the carriage. "Goodbye, Emm."

"Goodbye…"

Chrom nodded at Frederick, and the knight started the carriage on its way.

* * *

When the carriage pulled even with Ylisstol's gate and continued onward, Frederick asked, "Where to, milady?"

Emmeryn slowly flipped through her journal, eventually settling on the most recent page.

 _January 20th_

"To Plegia Harbor," Emmeryn replied softly.

"As you wish."

* * *

 _January 20th (cont.):_

 _When Frederick said he would 'be as my shadow,' he was not joking. The man is silent as stone, and equally expressive._

 _I choose to take this lack of expression at… erm, face value, no pun intended. That is, his intention is to give me space. I find this quite thoughtful. This is, indeed, a very personal voyage upon which we are now embarking._

 _After all, I intend to retrace my steps. It doesn't get more personal than that._

* * *

 _January 25th_

The man's face was unmistakable. Two years ago, Emmeryn had thought the man had just neglected his razor; however, with his beard still at the exact same length and level of unkemptness, she realized this was actually a _style_ choice.

On the other hand, this man didn't seem to recognize her. "Whaddya need, girlie?"

Emmeryn was very conscious of Frederick standing resolutely behind her. He wasn't much of a 'shadow' after all, and seemed unable to throw his habit of standing at parade rest, even when undercover.

"I'm looking for a merchant," Emmeryn explained quietly. "A specific one… His name is Martin."

"Martin, eh? S'been awhile since I've 'eard that name. 'E retired 'bout six months ago."

"I don't have any business with him… I just wanted to say hello." She smiled. "I'm an old friend."

The scrawny man grinned. "Well, in that case, I can direct you to his 'ouse, if ya want. 'E lives just outside the 'arbor nowadays."

"That would be wonderful."

* * *

Knock, knock.

Both Emmeryn and Frederick wore brown, hooded cloaks for as long as they remained in the desert. It was both practical for the weather and useful for remaining undetected, and Emmeryn suspected she would continue to use the cloak for much of the trip.

Emmeryn pulled her hood down as she waited for an answer at the door. Frederick hovered nearby, decidedly un-shadow-like.

The door finally opened. The man who answered the door was unmistakably Martin the Merchant, despite his definite gain in weight (and graying of hair) since the last time Emmeryn had seen him.

Martin leered irritably at his two guests. "Who is it?"

Emmeryn smiled. "Martin," she murmured. "It's me. An old friend."

Martin continued to glare for another moment, and Emmeryn saw skeptical words about to form on his tongue, when, suddenly, he recognized her.

"Gods damn!" he exclaimed, breaking into a wide grin. "It's the girl with the amnesia!"

Emmeryn nodded, beaming.

"It's been—gods, what, two years? Come in, come in!" Martin gestured as he returned into his home.

Emmeryn, with Frederick trailing just behind, entered the former merchant's household, looking around. An assortment of toys lay on the floor of the living room, which was populated by two empty rocking chairs and a couch, as well as a dim fireplace.

"Can hardly believe my eyes!" Martin was bubbling excitedly. "Last I saw you was back in the Harbor. You were gonna do work for my friend, weren'tcha? But he said you never finished the job."

"Erm…" Emmeryn thought of the letter. She had nearly forgotten how Letter Killer had gotten his pretend name. "That's… a very long story…"

"Two years long, I'd bet," said Martin. "Oy, Susan! C'mere, c'mere!" he called.

A middle-aged woman soon appeared, carrying a baby in her arms; she stopped when she saw Emmeryn and Frederick. Emmeryn wore a friendly smile, while Frederick's expression was stone-cold. Perhaps that's how he thought shadows looked.

Regardless, Susan smiled. "Oh! We have company? Well!" She passed the child off to Martin. "I'll whip us up some dinner!"

* * *

Frederick silently consumed his sandwich. _He finally seems relaxed,_ Emmeryn thought. _…To an extent of 'relaxed.'_

"So _you're_ the amnesiac girl Martin went on and on about?" Susan asked amicably. "My goodness, after all this time, I finally get to meet you!"

Emmeryn smiled, embarrassed. _On and on…?_ "I suppose so… I hope I don't disappoint your expectations."

"Haha!" Martin laughed. "You really learned how to speak, didn'tcha? You didn't know a word when I met you!"

His wife shushed him, out of concern for their two— _two!_ —sleeping children.

Emmeryn took a bite into her sandwich, not expecting what came next: a sudden, violent wave of nostalgia.

Her jaw nearly dropped at the consuming sensation. _The first meal I ever ate,_ she thought to herself. "This sandwich… It's as good as I remember," Emmeryn murmured.

"Told you!" said Martin confidently. "Best sandwiches ever."

Emmeryn thought of the Pier Sandwich. Perhaps, later, she'd have to compare the two—though at the moment, she'd give an edge to Susan's.

"So how are things lately?" Martin asked.

"I'm well," said Emmeryn. "My life has finally steadied." She brightened. "Oh! I reunited with my family."

Martin grinned widely, and his wife clasped her hands together happily. "What'd I tell ya?" Martin egged, pointing at her. "There's a family for everyone. Glad you found your own."

"That's wonderful, dear," Susan said. "I'm very happy for you."

Martin blinked. "…Just occurred to me I still don't have a name for ya. What'd you find out?"

Emmeryn hesitated, and noticed she had caught Frederick's sharp gaze out of the corner of her eye. "Em… Emily," she said slowly. "My name is Emily."

Frederick relaxed again.

"Emily," Martin said, trying the name out. "It suits you. Now instead of saying 'that amnesiac girl' I can say 'that amnesiac girl, Emily.'" He laughed. "So, what're you gonna do now?"

"I have much more traveling to do," said Emmeryn. "I won't be staying much longer…"

"Well, don't be a stranger, Em," said Martin. "Feel free to stay the night tonight. You can be on your way in the morning."

Emmeryn smiled. "Thank you very much, Martin."

* * *

She slept in the guest room that night. Frederick sat by the door, a silent sentry.

Late into the night, she peeked over at him from her bed, and found him sound asleep, his head resting against the wall.

* * *

 _January 26th:_

 _After saying our—my?—farewells to Martin's family the following morning, we returned to Plegia Harbor. Frederick chartered us a boat to our next destination: Valm Harbor._

 _It's time I found some answers… whether they hurt or not._

* * *

 _March 2nd:_

 _It was the most uneventful trip in the history of uneventful trips._

 _I had thought being cooped up in Ylisstol was bad, but this was a borderline nightmare. A small ship, a small crew, and an ever-silent Frederick, for a MONTH. After a couple days, I tried to engage Frederick in conversation, but he never overstepped his professionalism when replying. It sure sounds noble and all, but gods was it frustrating._

 _In any case, we have finally—FINALLY, Naga be praised—made landfall in Valm._

 _Valm Harbor. My old home._

* * *

"Wait! Frederick." Emmeryn tugged on his sleeve. "This way."

Frederick quietly followed Emmeryn as she approached the portly man. The man seemed to be preoccupied with putting up some sort of advertisement on the front of his building, and didn't notice their approach.

Emmeryn slowed to a stop behind the shopkeeper. She quietly cleared her throat, nervousness shaking her. "E-Excuse me," she said softly.

Frederick squinted down at his charge. Why was she behaving so anxiously?

Without looking over his shoulder, the portly salesman replied, "Gimme just a moment, an' I'll see what I can fix you with." He hammered in the final nail, and put his hands on his hips, proud of his new poster for… the latest brand of Sweet Tincture.

His work done, the salesman turned around to face them. He stumbled with surprise. "Wha—!"

Emmeryn smiled, and she reciprocated when the shopkeeper hugged her.

"E-Emily!" the shopkeeper stammered, pinching her shoulder ("Ow!") to determine her realness. "I-I can hardly believe it!"

"It's been a long time," Emmeryn said.

"It _has!_ We all thought you were dead, actually." The shopkeeper rubbed the back of his head embarrassedly. "Real glad to hear that you're all right."

"We?" Emmeryn asked hopefully.

The shopkeeper gestured to the south of town. "Merc an' his crew," he explained. "They work at the south docks nowadays. Guess you haven't seem 'em since they enlisted, huh?"

"Yes." Emmeryn looked to the south longingly, but… in the mixed bag that was her emotional state right then, dread was near the top. Did she _really_ want to see them?

She turned back to the shopkeeper, her most important question dancing on the tip of her tongue.

The shopkeeper could tell by the fear and longing in her eyes exactly what her question would be, but he allowed her to vocalize it.

"Is… Is John safe?" she slowly asked.

The shopkeeper grimaced. "…Emily…"

She bit her lip, tears threatening to move in her eyes.

Frederick tilted his head curiously.

"Emily… the same day we thought you died, last June… when the riots were happening, just before Ylisse showed up… John… he…" He swallowed, steeling himself. "John was killed, Emily… Two Valmese soldiers did it."

Emily inhaled sharply, clutching her heart and swaying as though about to collapse; Frederick moved to help her stand, but she waved him off.

"I… I see…" Emmeryn whispered breathlessly.

"I'm so sorry," the shopkeeper choked. "We all thought you'd both died… It was a tragedy for Valm Harbor that day."

Emmeryn swallowed her disappointment. "He died… to allow me to escape," she murmured. "If it weren't for him… I _would_ be dead."

"Well, then he was even more of a hero than I thought," the shopkeeper proclaimed. "You might be happy to know that he took the two soldiers down with him."

Emily already knew that her father was a badass, but yes, the knowledge was comforting.

She shook her head. _Emmeryn,_ she reminded herself.

She procured a pleasant smile for the shopkeeper. "Thank you so much, for… everything," she said quietly. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for her second tough question. "And… And what of Jer? Jeremiah?" She hesitated. "Is he…?"

"Jer?" The shopkeeper brightened. "Oh, Jer! He's fine!"

An indescribable feeling welled in Emmeryn. "He is…!"

"Yeah! He doesn't work for Merc anymore, though. I haven't seen him since August, right after the war ended. He lives inland, now; out in the country, on a farm."

A smile grew on Emmeryn's face. _A farm… just like he's always wanted._ "Where can I find him?"

"I'll write it down for ya." The shopkeeper whipped out a notepad and pen and began to scribble.

Emmeryn glanced over her shoulder at Frederick as she waited. "Sorry," she said. "More carriage-riding, looks like."

"I'm prepared to go anywhere," Sir Frederick responded. "Just say the word."

Emmeryn soured slightly at his lack of personality. "Frederick… Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Lighten up." Emmeryn turned around and accepted the shopkeeper's note with a smile.

"Good luck," said the shopkeeper, and they began to part ways.

Then, the shopkeeper stopped. "Oh! And, Emily…"

"Hm?"

The shopkeeper pointed at the advertisement. "Happy birthday." He turned and entered his shop.

Emmeryn frowned as she looked at the sign.

 _"Sale! Starting today: March 2nd."_

* * *

Emily's chin was buried into her pillow as she stared at the shopkeeper's directions, burning every letter into her memory.

 _Jer,_ she thought. _I still have you._

She looked around her room. It hadn't changed a bit in all this time; her covers still smelled as sweet, and the clothes she had left behind still hung in the closet. After John's (and her) death, no one had moved into their old home, so here she and Frederick would stay for the night.

At least someone had had the courtesy to clean the… mess… that John had left behind in the living room.

Emmeryn shivered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. She would not be able to stay here any longer than the one night. Too many memories…

Emmeryn looked over her shoulder. Frederick sat in a nearly identical spot to where he had in Martin's house: against the wall, facing the door, ready for any intruders—though his eyes were closed for now. He had done the same during the whole voyage here, but it made more sense then, given the seclusion of the ship's cabins…

 _It's only the door to my room, though, not the house,_ she thought sullenly. "Sir Frederick?"

"Yes, milady?" He looked over at her, revealing himself to be wide awake.

Emmeryn pointed out the door. "There's another room in the back," she said, indicating her father's old bedroom. "There's a bed you could sleep in."

"I am perfectly comfortable right here," said Frederick with a professional smile. "Rest assured, Lady Emmeryn, I can sleep much easier knowing my charge is nearby."

Emmeryn sighed. "If you insist…"

"But if I am making you uncomfortable…"

"No, no. I was only thinking of _your_ comfort."

"I appreciate your selflessness, milady, but please think nothing of it. I am perfectly happy right here."

"If you say so. Good night, Sir Frederick."

"Good night, milady."

Frederick watched her roll over, tightly bundled in her sheets. Within minutes, she breathed deeply in sleep.

Frederick couldn't help but smile. _I suppose you never really changed,_ he thought. _Your selflessness. It's very like you, Lady Emmeryn._

He leaned back, resting his head on the wall. _Or, perhaps, this father of yours raised you right._

* * *

 _March 4th_

Several miles already lay behind the two hooded travelers. The ocean was no longer visible on the eastern horizon, and it would likely be weeks before they would finally reach their destination. As for now, they had another day under their belt, and were turning in for the night.

Frederick poked at the embers with a stick, unhappy that the fire was dying. Part of him wanted to throw a new bundle of logs on them and watch them cascade with explosive flames, but milady was tired, and he himself doubted he could stay awake to monitor the fire for much longer. He sighed and resigned himself to the fact that all good fires must come to an end.

"You _must_ be curious."

Frederick started, surprised. Emmeryn lay on her side, well ensconced within her sleeping bag, but her eyes were wide open and trained on Frederick.

"Pardon, milady?"

"You must be curious about everything," said Emmeryn. "About John, about Jer…" She shook her head. "About this whole trip, really."

"My duty comes first," said Sir Frederick. "And I promised you that I could be ignored. Curiosity doesn't factor into the equation."

"So you don't care?" Emmeryn asked. "Not even a little bit?"

Frederick hesitated. "I…" he sighed. "…I cannot lie to you, Your Grace. I _am_ curious. However, I will not press my selfishness and impose on your privacy."

"It's not unreasonable," said Emmeryn. "You… have been by my side for a long time, yet you have spoken so little…"

Frederick looked down into the embers.

Emmeryn sighed. "It's lonely, Sir Frederick… to have no one to talk to."

She clutched the covers of the sleeping bag close, obscuring her mouth behind it anxiously. She thought back, back to a time that felt so long ago it was unreal—the abandoned pirate ship. The claustrophobic solitude that had impaired her speech, damaged her thoughts, until the comfort of Rjorn's voice brought her back from the brink.

Frederick glanced up at her. His eyes were still hard and sharp, but… not as much. "I see… Forgive my obliviousness." He smiled for her. It was still his professional, dutiful smile, but Emmeryn appreciated the effort. "If you would like someone to talk to, I am here."

Emmeryn let out her breath that she didn't realize she was holding, and she smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Sir Frederick… You are too kind."

Frederick adjusted to face her more directly. "Very well then, Lady Emmeryn. There are two years of your life of which I have no knowledge. I would dearly enjoy catching up with you."

"And I you," said Emmeryn happily. "I must have missed so much…"

Frederick nodded. "You certainly have. It hasn't been all war and strategy since your disappearance. There was a long period of peace between the Plegian and Valmese wars." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "After the war, Lady Maribelle confessed to your brother, and it wasn't long before the two were wed. They even bore a child: Lucina."

Emmeryn smiled wistfully as she thought of the energetic toddler back in Ylisstol. "Lucina…" she whispered.

"Many other relationships built during the war also solidified during this time," said Frederick. "Though none of the others had children, there were several marriages. Gaius and Panne, Cordelia and Gregor, Nowi and Libra… It was a happy time. I hope you would be pleased to learn that, though we grieved your death, it did not destroy us."

"I am," said Emmeryn.

 _"Chrom and Lissa suffered through two years of grieving because of your last choice,"_ Robin had said.

Why was he so coarse with her? Why would he push her away? Was he trying to soften the blow of his death? _Because that's not how that works. Not in the real world,_ Emmeryn thought bitterly.

"And what of you?" said Frederick, catching her attention again. He gestured at the satchel lying next to her. "I understand you keep a journal. What kind of story does it hold?"

"A very long one," Emmeryn laughed.

Frederick chuckled. "I hope you had happy times. I'm certain there were trying moments, but it can't all have been bad."

"There certainly were good times," said Emmeryn. "I lived happily in Valm Harbor for over a year… I had John, and Jer, and several friends…"

"John was your adopted father, yes?" said Frederick, to which Emmeryn responded with a nod. "Who was this Jer, to you?"

Emmeryn hesitated. "He…" How to put this. "He and I were… together."

Frederick slowly changed to a somewhat surly expression. As she expected of her guardian. "…Together. As in… betrothed?"

Emmeryn tried to remember what that word meant. "N-No… we were not married. We almost got engaged… but…" She bit her lip, painful memories resurging.

"I see… Dating, then."

"Yes."

"And when you find him?" Frederick asked. "What then? Who do you expect to find?" He tilted his head. "Do you… intend to return to him?"

She winced, the piercing question hitting home. "I… I really don't know."

"You dated this man for how long?"

"Nearly… eight months."

"Eight months." Frederick pursed his lips seriously for a moment. "He must mean a great deal to you."

"He… He does." She flinched under his gaze. She couldn't deny her feelings for Jer, but to face them so directly was something she was unaccustomed to. She hadn't allowed herself any hope for so long.

Frederick continued to watch her for another moment, in silence. Finally, he smiled. "I see. I understand your hesitance, milady; you clearly thought him dead for some time now. We have weeks left before we arrive at his homestead—plenty of time for you to think on the matter."

Emmeryn smiled as well. "You're right. Thank you, Frederick."

He inclined his head respectfully. "Any time, milady. Good night." He moved a few paces away and sat against the carriage, resting.

Emmeryn snuggled under her sleeping bag, growing more and more tired. Their conversation was more exhausting than she had expected. "Good night," she murmured, and soon fell asleep.

* * *

The carriage rumbled steadily under Emmeryn; Frederick held the reins silently, allowing Emmeryn a moment alone with her journal.

She wore a small, happy smile as her pen took action against the paper.

 _March 5th:_

 _It's a small change, but a very meaningful one. Frederick is still quiet, but having now had a full conversation with him, I find the man much more approachable and… human. I feel much less alone. This trip will be far more pleasant, even if he doesn't speak another word, thanks to the new atmosphere._

 _As for the question he asked me last night…_

She bit her lip, halting the pen for a moment.

 _…I still don't have an answer. It seems that all there is to do is think about it. What are my expectations from seeing Jeremiah? What is the plan? Do I… leap into his arms, laughing and crying, falling in love with him all over again? And stay with him, sending Frederick home to Ylisstol with a letter of explanation for Chrom? Or would I convince him to return to Ylisse with me…?_

Emmeryn paused.

 _I suppose the first question is "do I still love Jer…"_

 _The obvious answer is "yes." After all, I loved him then, and if he hasn't changed, then I should still love him, no?_

 _…But, even if he hasn't changed, have I? I fell for Robin—I am not too proud to admit it. What if that changed things? What if…_

 _So no, I am not sure. The only thing that will make me certain is seeing him._

* * *

 _March 11th:_

 _More anticipation for our arrival at Jer's. Frederick estimates we should arrive by the month's end… goodness gracious, Valm is enormous._

 _Something occurred to me earlier today: the reason I fell for Robin. It was the way he treated me—like an equal, like a very close friend… I remember thinking, "the only other person to ever treat me this way was Jer."_

 _(And Rjorn, I suppose, but… that's a whole different animal.)_

 _My point is, I had feelings for Robin because he reminded me of the man I loved. He reminded me of Jeremiah._

 _What does this change? …Maybe nothing. Food for thought…_

* * *

 _March 31st_

Frederick slowed the carriage to a halt, shaking Emmeryn awake. She sat up and looked out the front of the carriage, curious as to why they had stopped.

They sat perched atop a hill, overlooking vast fields of moonlit green below. Well within sight was a lone house, warm light shining from within.

Emmeryn's breath caught. "We're here," she whispered.

Frederick nodded. "That we are." He gestured at the house with his reins. "That matches the shopkeeper's description." He glanced sideways at Emmeryn. "Would you like to go in?"

Emmeryn caught her breath. "N… No," she said. "It's late… We should make camp here, and visit in the morning." She stared down at the small house in the distance, its light inviting her in. She'd have to be strong.

"I understand." Frederick could see the dread in her eyes. He knew she still hadn't found an answer to his question; he could tell, every day, that it had been eating at her, but she could never decide. "I'll start a fire at once."

Frederick guided the carriage off the road, and the two dismounted. Within minutes, their camp at the top of the hill was completed.

Frederick and Emmeryn sat silently across from each other, separated by the fire. Emmeryn sat hugging her knees to her chest, with her chin resting on top.

Frederick followed her gaze. She was staring intently at the farmhouse in the distance.

"Lady Emmeryn."

"Hm?" She looked over at him.

"Tomorrow, when you speak to him, will you tell him the truth?" Frederick asked.

"About my identity?" Emmeryn asked.

"Yes."

Emmeryn sighed, shaking her head. "I was meaning to ask you for advice on that."

Frederick smiled. "First, if I may be so impudent as to ask of you the same favor that you asked me: please, lighten up, milady."

Emmeryn cracked a smile.

"Remember," Frederick continued, "regardless of the outcome of tomorrow, you still have a home to return to, and a peaceful life. You can live in happiness with or without Jeremiah."

"I understand that," said Emmeryn pleasantly. "I do, truly."

"As for your question…" said Frederick. "From the standpoint of a knight, I believe your identity should be closely guarded. Only your protectors and those who love you most should be privy to that information." He tilted his head. "From the position of a conversationalist… If you revealed your identity, then that would likely dominate the entirety of conversation for all of tomorrow, and I doubt you'd want that."

Emmeryn laughed loudly. "You _are_ the expert on conversation!"

Frederick smiled wryly. "I almost missed the trademark snark of the Ylissean royal family. But you know I have a point."

She nodded, conceding.

"Anyway," Frederick continued. "If I may impose myself, I'd like to offer my standpoint as a friend."

Emmeryn blinked, surprised. "B-By all means."

"As a friend: this is not a secret you can keep from him forever if you intend to resume your relationship with him," Frederick stated. "Someday, you _will_ have to reveal the truth, and if you wait, the revelation could damage the trust between you two. Sooner is better than later."

Emmeryn stared at the fire pensively. Frederick soon followed suit.

"…I'll see how tomorrow goes," she said slowly. She glanced up at Frederick. "That's… my answer to everything, really. I'll see how tomorrow goes."

Frederick nodded, smiling encouragingly. "That sounds like a valid plan, milady. As for me: tomorrow, I shall be as your shadow."

Emmeryn snickered.

* * *

 _April 1st_

Kno—

Emmeryn hesitated, her fist hovering just before Jer's door. She glanced over her shoulder at Frederick, searching for encouragement. Unfortunately, at the moment he was trying his damnedest to be her shadow.

He slowly realized her predicament, and nodded at the door wordlessly.

She wasn't exactly comforted by the steely look in his eyes, but she reasoned with herself that there was no good in dragging out the burning pit of dread in her stomach. Points for trying, Frederick.

Knock, knock.

Her heart pounded.

So did Frederick's, but he didn't let it show.

Emmeryn knocked again. After she did so, she heard footsteps approaching. Her heart rate quickened.

She heard a key scratching at the other side of the door. She held her breath.

The door opened.

"Well, hello, there," said a pink-haired woman, smiling curiously. "How can I help you?"

Emmeryn was shocked into silence, unprepared for this turn of events. In a staggering feat of unshadowlikeness, Frederick stepped forward, pulled down his hood, and offered his hand, smiling pleasantly.

"How do you do, madam," said Frederick politely, as the woman shook his hand. "We are looking for a prior resident of this farm. Jeremiah is his name."

"Oh! Well, don't you worry, neighbor," the woman said sweetly. "He's right here. I'll go get him."

The door closed again, and Emmeryn remembered how to breathe. "Wh… Wh… I…"

Frederick crossed his arms and grimaced, waiting patiently. He tapped Emmeryn's hood, advising her to let it down, which she quickly did.

The door opened and, wait hold on, Jeremiah had a beard. It was short and all, but still, a _beard?_ What was _that_ about? He looked ten years older.

Jer's eyes shifted from the tall man at the forefront to the girl at his side. His eyes widened. "What the—Oh my gods! _Emily!"_

Emily blinked, speechless.

She and Jer stared each other down for a long time. Frederick waited by Emmeryn's side, and the pink-haired girl did the same behind Jer.

Jer's fists were clenched, and he bit his lip, staring at Emily in agony. There was a dozen different things he wanted to say or do, but… not in front of these others.

Emmeryn forced a smile, and raised her hands, as if to say, "Here I am!" Her smile was rather half-hearted, from seeing the conflict in Jer's expression.

Jer blinked rapidly and made himself smile for his guests. "C-Come in, come in," he said, gesturing. "I'll, uh… get some tea going."

"We would be honored," said Frederick dutifully. Emmeryn was endlessly grateful for Frederick's willingness to speak on her behalf.

The two guests found themselves sharing a table with the pink-haired woman. Tension was thick in the air, and Emmeryn rapped her fingers on the table anxiously. Meanwhile, Frederick still held his professional atmosphere, and politely thanked Jeremiah when he returned with four mugs of steaming tea.

Emmeryn clutched the drink in both of her hands, squeezing her palms against the scalding ceramic. She was angry with herself for her lack of words.

She soon noticed she wasn't the only one. All four of them waited awkwardly, silently; Frederick stirred his tea.

Jer cleared his throat. "So, uh… Emily." He smiled. "I'm… I'm really glad to see you. I thought… er…"

Emily realized he had trailed off to allow her a topic to latch onto, and scrambled to reply. "Er, y-yes, I'm… I'm alive and well. It's a l-long story…"

"Where have you been all this time?" Jer asked.

Emmeryn made a vague gesture. "Um… lots of places. To be honest, I, er… I wasn't sure _you_ were alive, either."

Jer nodded slowly. He took note of her slower speech—a far cry from her former fluency. His heart fell at the thought of what she must have been through to make her give up proper speaking, but he didn't let it show—he knew how she hated when people would point that out. "Yeah, I'm, I'm fine."

There was another awkward silence.

"Oh!" said Jer suddenly. "Because I was in the army… Right, right."

Emmeryn sighed. Jer's enlistment was the last thing she remembered of him, but for Jer, the war had been over since last July.

"After my training, I was sent to some backwater," Jer explained. "I never saw combat, and the end of the war was just kinda "oh, ok" for us, you know? We just, uh… went home."

Emmeryn smiled. "That's good…"

Jer turned somber. "Listen… I don't know if you heard about John, but…"

"I did," she interrupted quickly. "He was protecting me when he died…"

"Oh," said Jer. "That… makes me feel better, really."

In the long pause that followed, Frederick pursed his lips. This conversation was going nowhere, and it would continue not to until the elephants in the room were addressed. "I'm not certain if I've been introduced," he said pleasantly, though he was in fact _quite_ certain he had not been. "My name is Frederick, an old colleague of Emm—of, Emily's."

Jer eyed him skeptically. "An old colleague? _How_ old?"

Frederick sighed. Jer was dodging the second elephant. "Mister Jeremiah, Emily has spoken of you many times, but I don't recall a mention of pink hair. I'm certain I would if she had mentioned it; pink is quite the unusual color."

"I-It's where I got my name," the pink-haired girl said nervously. She glanced at Jer, uncomfortable.

Jer nodded at her grimly, and turned to Emmeryn. "Emily, this is, uh… Rose."

 _Rose?_ It took a long moment for that name to ring a bell. Just before it did, however, Jer gave an explanation.

"She's my wife."

Emily's heart skipped a beat. It then plummeted.

Frederick flinched, disappointed. He had suspected as much, but…

"Oh," said Emmeryn. She seemed surprisingly nonchalant. Her voice did hit a rather high note, however. "Well, um… I'm happy for you."

"Happy for us, yes," Jer mumbled, bobbing his head.

An awkward silence.

"So, um…" Emmeryn brushed her hair over her ear. "H-How long have you two…?"

Jer glanced at Rose. "Uh… November. I-I mean, we reunited back in August, but, uh… the marriage thing was November."

Rose nodded.

Emmeryn nodded.

Frederick nodded.

"So, an old colleague!" Jer added desperately.

"Indeed," said Frederick, calm and composed.

"Old, like, you knew her before the amnesia?"

"Yes." Frederick glanced at Emmeryn, silently urging her to jump in at any time. It wouldn't be long before Jer asked a question Frederick couldn't answer.

"Well, that's great!" Jer faced Emily. "Did you ever find your original family?"

Frederick left that question for Emmeryn. Three pairs of eyes watched her earnestly.

Emmeryn bit her lip, having taken to rapping her fingers on the table once again. After a second of no reply, she stopped. "Jer, I need to speak to you in private."

"Pardon?" interjected Frederick. He glanced up to check Rose's expression—surprisingly one of resignation more than discontent.

Emmeryn's eyes didn't leave Jer. "Please."

"Um…" Jer glanced at Rose, and then back to Emmeryn. "…Okay. Let's talk in my room."

The pair noisily pushed out their seats, leaving the racket ringing behind them as they exited the kitchen. Their cups of tea stayed behind.

Frederick stared after them, and watched them enter Jer's room and close the door. "…Miss Rose."

She looked up from her tea at him. "Yes?"

"You know who Emily is, yes?"

Rose frowned. "I… Yeah. She and Jer used to… um…"

Frederick faced her. "I'm sorry for all of this."

"I-It's okay," she insisted. "She didn't know about us… From all the stories Jer told, Emily was a really nice girl. She wouldn't try to do anything like this on purpose."

Frederick gestured at the door. "Knowing what you do, you don't want to hear their conversation?"

Rose shook her head. "If they need to talk, then… they should talk." She stood and left the room.

Frederick frowned.

* * *

Emmeryn wrapped her cloak around her tightly. It wasn't cold in Jer's room, not by a long shot, but she shivered anyway.

"Is Rose really okay with this?" Emmeryn asked. She kicked herself for having doubts _now._ They already had their time alone. "I mean, with our history…"

"She is," said Jer. Emmeryn was surprised by his confidence. "Rose trusts me, just as I trust her. She has nothing to fear."

Emmeryn's heart was a rollercoaster. It skipped a beat in happiness for him, but fell at the same time for the other implications of Jer's statement.

"…Okay," she whispered. She had to stay strong. She wouldn't embarrass herself in the company of Frederick and Rose by breaking down.

"So." Jer crossed his arms, looking down on her with concern. "You're… alive. I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

"I feel the same way," Emmeryn said with a nod, trying to put forth a brave smile. "And… I'm happy that you found happiness."

He gave her a look. "Emily. Don't lie to me."

"Lie?"

"You know I could always read you like a book," said Jer. "You still love me."

Emmeryn was taken aback by his bluntness. "J-Jer!" The walls were not terribly thick—if Rose was listening in, she'd hear every word.

 _"Emily."_

Emily looked at the ground, a familiar bitterness rising in her. "Fine. _Excuse_ me for wanting to see you again. I never forgot about you, even when I thought you were dead. I won't lie to you, Jer: I'm still in love with you." She crossed her arms, looking away. "Though it doesn't _matter_ how I feel anymore."

"I'm not blaming you!" Jer exclaimed. "Emily, if I were in your shoes, I'd feel the same way. What we had—it was—unique."

"Unique," Emily spat. "Not even a year goes by and you're already married to your childhood sweetheart…"

"That's not fair, Emily! I thought you were dead! _Everyone_ thought you were dead! I had to move on!" He gestured around the farmhouse. "That's why I left the Harbor, you know. I couldn't bear it there anymore, not without you. That's why I moved to the farm, and met Rose."

Emmeryn wiped away a tear before it became a threat to her angry front. "I get it, Jer. It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. But that's horrible! I want to be _angry,_ but there's no one to be angry _at!"_

Jer sighed. "I know. I know the feeling. That's how I felt after you died. The soldiers that we thought killed you and John were all dead, and as much as I wanted to kick that corporal's corpse, it wouldn't make me feel any better."

 _Corporal? …Oh._ Emmeryn trembled as she remembered Sirus. She would've appreciated a kick or two.

"Everything's so different now," said Emmeryn quietly. "I don't have a father anymore. I don't have _you_ anymore."

"You still have _him."_

Jer's venom surprised Emmeryn. "What?"

"That man out there. Frederick." Jer jabbed a finger at the door. "Who is he to you?"

Emmeryn blinked, on the verge of laughter at the absurdity of Jer's question. "What are you on about? Frederick is a friend." She tilted her head. "Are you… jealous?"

"What? No!" Jer began to pace. "Of course not."

"This is ridiculous! Why on Earth are you jealous? _You're_ the one who's married, not me!"

"It's not _jealousy,_ it's _concern,"_ insisted Jer. "He's shady, Em."

Now Emmeryn _really_ wanted to laugh. Frederick was possibly the least shady person she had ever met. "You're such a liar! You still love me, Jer. You can't hide that from me."

"What?! Now _you're_ lying again!" Jer was starting to raise his voice.

Emmeryn chuckled quietly, and gestured for him to calm down. "Jeremiah, please. This conversation won't get anywhere if we keep throwing accusations."

Jer crossed his arms irritably.

"You still have feelings for me," said Emmeryn. "You can't deny that, just how I can't deny that I have feelings for you."

"That's different," said Jer. "I've fallen in love again, with Rose."

Emmeryn sighed deeply. "Jer… I…" She bit her tongue, hesitating; but she then decided to throw caution to the wind. "I met someone… someone who knew me before. I fell for him."

"Frederick?" Jer asked, a green edge to his eye.

"No… it was someone else. And though we couldn't be together, due to… many reasons… it didn't stop me from loving him. It still doesn't stop me from loving you, even…" She paused. "Even though we can never be together."

Jer put his hands on his hips, staring at the ground. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head and growled with quiet frustration. She was right. If she was telling the truth about this other man, then their situations were hardly different. _Even if feelings for different people grow, those original feelings don't just disappear…_

"Okay, Em, you caught me." He threw his hands up, exasperated. "You're right! I still have feelings for you. They'll probably never go away, too. But it's like you said—we can never be together! I'm with Rose now, and I love her. I don't know what you wanted from my little confession, but nothing can happen between us."

"I know," Emmeryn whispered. Tears began to well in her eyes. "I know."

 _What?_ Jer thought. _What was that reply? That was so mature—it wasn't like her… Wasn't like how she used to be, at least._

"…Emily." Jer stared into her eyes intensely. "Tell me. Who _are_ you, really?"

Emmeryn froze. There it was. "You… You don't want to know the answer to that."

"Yes I do," said Jer, taking a step closer. "And who is Frederick? You expect me to believe that a man who was willing to accompany you all the way here is _only a friend?"_

"Jer, you don't want to know!" Emmeryn insisted. "It would—it would change everything. How you see me, how you remember me… I don't want that."

"I want the truth, Emily," said Jer coldly. "If your name really _is_ Emily."

"You don't need the truth." Emmeryn sighed a long, weary sigh that she had learned from her father. "I was going to tell you, Jer. I was. I planned to walk back into your life, and we would fall in love again, and I would tell you everything. We would have a lifetime of stories to share." She shook her head. "But that's gone now. What we 'will be' is irrelevant, now. All I have is what we _were._ And I won't tarnish that with the truth." She forced a tearful smile for the man she used to love. "Jeremiah, what I am is an amnesiac woman who lived a happy life in Valm Harbor. I was the one who loved you then, but war separated us. We died, then. That was it for us."

Jer turned away from Emmeryn, pacing in such a way that she couldn't see his face. "Gods dammit…" he muttered, his voice shaky.

"Jer, back then, I died too," Emmeryn murmured. "To you, I am dead. After today… After today we'll never see each other again, for real. I'll leave you to the life you always wanted, with the girl of your dreams."

"You were the girl of my dreams, Emily," Jer urged. "Don't say we'll never see each other again. Don't."

"We won't, Jeremiah," whispered Emmeryn soothingly. "It's okay. It is."

She held out her open palm, smiling widely as the tears ran down.

Jer stared at her with red, watering eyes. Very slowly, he reached out and took her hand.

The two looked each other in the eye, linked by their hands, for an all-too-brief eternity.

"You have a family to return to," Emmeryn murmured, her peaceful smile unbroken. "A family to _create._ And I have a family of my own. We will both be happy, Jer, I promise."

"I-I promise… I promise, too," said Jer. "…I'll never forget you."

"Nor I you. This was meant to be." She brushed a tear from her eye with her finger. "Goodbye, Jer. I love you."

"I love you too." Jer finally gave her a smile: a bittersweet rendition of his sideways grin. "Goodbye, Emily."

* * *

A brief thanks to Rose for her hospitality, and the two Ylisseans were gone from their lives forever.

Frederick glanced over his shoulder at Emmeryn. She stared out of the back of the carriage; tears flowed from her eyes, but she made no noise to betray herself, nor did she so much as tremble from emotion.

"I'm sorry," Frederick whispered. "Milady…"

"You've nothing to be sorry about," she said. Her voice held steady. "Coming here was my idea… and I shouldn't have. Jer was better off thinking me dead…"

"You couldn't possibly have known."

"I know," she murmured.

The carriage rumbled during the lull in conversation. Frederick resolved to let Emmeryn be for now.

"Frederick," Emmeryn said. He turned to her, but she still stared out the back rather than at Frederick.

"Yes, milady?"

She finally faced him and looked him in the eye. "You said we are friends, yes?"

"I… suppose I implied as such."

"I must ask you a personal question."

Frederick blinked and faced forward, eyes back on the road. "Anything, Lady Emmeryn."

"Have you ever known love?"

Frederick pursed his lips silently for a long moment. "…I see. A _very_ personal question, then. I suppose I did say 'anything'…" He sighed. "In the form of romantic love, I'm afraid not, milady. I have never been truly infatuated with a woman, nor had the passion to pursue one. My knighthood has always been my number one priority."

He paused for a moment. "Though… I once spoke with Robin on the subject of _familial_ love. That is, Robin's passionate closeness with the Shepherds. That… _That_ I understand. The words he spoke evoked the same feeling I get regarding my duties to the noble house of Ylisse."

"Truly? You are that passionate?"

Frederick nodded solemnly. "I am. It is truly my life's dream to perform the tasks I perform. To serve the royal family, to serve _you_ … I am blessed."

Emmeryn stared at the floor of the carriage, a tiny smile appearing on her face. "I see…"

"My lady Emmeryn," said Frederick solemnly. "I regret to confess that, unlike Miss Rose, I was not a big enough person to not eavesdrop on your conversation with Jeremiah. I apologize for my transgression, but please believe me when I say that I agree with every word you spoke. You did everything right today."

"Thank you, Sir Frederick." Emmeryn looked out the back of the carriage once again. "Thank you…"

* * *

 _May 8th:_

 _The Pier Sandwich tasted of salt and horridly sweet memories. I didn't finish it._

 _I won't be visiting Merc and his crew, either. It's best they didn't know of my survival… and if the shopkeeper tells them, then that's that. It will concern me no longer by the time they hear of it._

 _I learned of a graveyard on the outskirts of Valm Harbor, and decided to make a short visit there while I awaited Frederick's return with news of passage aboard a ship._

* * *

Emmeryn's eyes finally rested on the proper headstone. She slowly approached, smoothed out her dress, and knelt before the grave.

 _JOHN_

 _HUSBAND TO LYRA_

 _FATHER TO EMILY_

 _CRITIC OF SWEAR WORDS_

Emily couldn't help but giggle. That last addition had to be Merc's.

"Father," she whispered. The graveyard held a silent air that she was loath to break. "Father, I did it. I found my family. My life is heading in a steady direction, at last…" She clumsily wiped away a tear with the heel of her hand. "Can you believe that I, of all people, am _Emmeryn?_ The former Exalt? Hee hee… It's madness, I know." She took a breath. "E-Everything you've taught me… everything you've done while raising me… I take it all to heart. You were an amazing father, even… even if you never had your own child." She hiccupped. "Even if I never met my real father… you are better than anything I could have imagined from him. You're in a better place, now… and I look forward to seeing you again someday, but I'm not ready yet. When I'm old, and wise, and have masterfully molded a life just as you have with mine… Then I'll be ready to join you."

Emmeryn looked to the side, at the grave adjacent to John's.

 _EMILY_

 _DAUGHTER OF JOHN_

 _BEAUTIFUL ENIGMA_

"I'm retiring the old name," she teased. "Please forgive me, Father, but… I am Emmeryn. This grave belongs to your daughter."

Emmeryn crawled over to John's headstone and pressed her forehead against the cool granite. She closed her eyes and held the tranquil repose for a long while.

"…Lady Emmeryn."

It was Frederick. Emmeryn stood to meet him.

"The ship is ready, milady. Where to?"

* * *

 _June 25th_

"Oh, my! Exalt Emmeryn!" The Elder stepped forward, practically bouncing with glee as he grasped Emmeryn's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "What an honor!"

"Please… just Emmeryn," said Emmeryn. "I've never been Exalt."

"Oh, if you insist." The Elder turned to Frederick. "And Frederick the Wary, the legendary knight captain of Ylisse!"

Frederick smiled professionally. "A pleasure, sir."

Emmeryn and Frederick followed the Elder toward the village.

"What brings such esteemed guests to our remote island?" the Elder asked.

"Vacation, of sorts," sighed Emmeryn peacefully. "Visiting old friends."

"Ohoho! Your words bring me much joy, Your Holiness."

* * *

 _June 25th:_

 _They held a feast for us. Not sure why I was surprised._

 _The effort was very kind, though. And here, back in the village… I can truly feel like I'm unwinding. This is true vacation, not the drama-ridden hellscape that is Valm…_

 _Hyperbole aside, I'm very happy to be here. The people are pleasant, the atmosphere is quiet, and I can just relax and enjoy myself for the first time in a long while. A week or so sounds like a good amount of rest…_

* * *

 _June 27th_

Emmeryn smiled as the baby wrapped its tiny fist around her index finger. "What's her name?" she asked.

Rjorn's mother smiled warmly. "We named her Djute, after the Elibean fable."

"It's a pretty name," said Emmeryn, continuing to play with the curious child.

Frederick sat cross-legged nearby, trying to look impassive, but Emmeryn finally caved and let him play with the child.

While Frederick was thus distracted, Emmeryn turned to Djute's parents. "I was never able to apologize for—"

"Lady Emmeryn," Rjorn's father interrupted sternly. "I know what you are about to say, and from the bottom of my heart, I mean this: don't. Rjorn was a grown woman who knew what she was doing, and died doing something she truly believed to be meaningful. What is truly beautiful is _this."_ He reached forward and lightly touched Emmeryn's necklace, brushing his fingers along Rjorn's ruby talisman. "Her memory lives on in you, milady. I would have it no other way."

Rjorn's mother and father both smiled. The familial warmth they radiated forced a genuine smile out of Emmeryn.

"I'll cherish her memory," said Emmeryn. "I promise."

Frederick suddenly let out a noise that Emmeryn would later transliterate in her journal as "Uwaaaagh!" The other three laughed at the mess Djute had made on Frederick's chest, and Rjorn's parents took their child back.

* * *

 _July 2nd_

"I really needed this," Emmeryn whispered to Frederick. "This week of just… nothing. Thank you for your patience, Frederick."

"I rather enjoyed the R-and-R myself, milady… for the most part," said Frederick. He and Emmeryn turned to the Elder. "We must say our farewells here."

"Of course, of course," said the Elder cheerfully. "Home beckons, of course. Please give Lord Chrom my regards."

"Certainly," said Emmeryn. "Take care."

She peered over the Elder's shoulder, at the crowd that had gathered. She spied Rjorn's parents in the crowd, with Djute riding on her father's shoulders.

Emmeryn waved at them. Rjorn's mother waved Djute's hand back; all three of them wore smiles.

"Goodbye," she said softly. "I promise to visit again someday."

"Someday," the Elder repeated. "I wonder if I could convince you to settle down here then, milady."

"Perhaps." She smiled and shook the Elder's hand daintily. "We'll discuss it then."

Frederick and Emmeryn boarded their ship and set sail for Ylisse.

* * *

 _July 19th_

The sound of massive, flapping wings pulled Emmeryn from her sun-basked reverie. She sat up, saw Frederick, and followed his gaze.

A pegasus knight bearing the colors of Ylisse alighted on the deck, and the rider dismounted.

"Sir Frederick," the knight said dutifully, reaching into her pouch. "A letter from Exalt Chrom."

Frederick frowned and accepted the letter. "What could be the matter, Lieutenant?"

"It's best you read it yourself." She saluted. "Fair winds, sir."

The pegasus knight took to the skies, headed northeast to Ylisse. Emmeryn envied the speed of the flyer—one could make the trip from Valm to Ylisse in half the time with flight.

She hurried over to Frederick, peering over his shoulder at the letter. "Out loud, please…"

"As you wish." Frederick unfolded the parchment and analyzed it closely. "Ahem.

"'July Seventeenth. To: Frederick (and Frederick's ward). Today, Lissa and I were traveling home after resolving a disturbance in Southtown. It was then that, in the exact same spot as the first time, we found Robin lying unconscious in a field.'"

Emmeryn's hands covered her mouth in surprise.

"'He has yet to awaken, but that will likely have changed by the time you receive this letter—our healers have informed us that he is in good health, though he may be weak for a while after waking up. We are all very eager to speak to him again. He has missed a lot, and so have you two. I hope to see you soon. Best wishes, Chrom.' Followed by the seal of Ylisse." Frederick gently folded the letter and smiled at Emmeryn. "I don't know about you, but that is welcome news for me."

"It _absolutely_ is!" Emmeryn exclaimed, bouncing on her toes in excitement. "Robin is home, at last…! We must make haste!"

"I'll have the ship pushed to its limit!" Frederick boasted. "We'll make it before July's end!"

* * *

Sadly, Frederick was wrong.

 _August 2nd_

Emmeryn's heart beat rapidly as she grabbed as many of her bags as she could, leapt off of the carriage, and shouldered open the door to the castle, before running inside.

One of the guards blinked, surprised at the sudden commotion. "Good morning, milady. Can I help you?"

"O-Oh, um…" Emmeryn panted, searching the empty throne room. "I-Is Lord Chrom here?"

"I'm afraid not, milady. He and most of the Shepherds left the castle two days ago."

"Really? Why?" Frederick asked as he approached. His eyes were narrowed warily.

"Uh…" The guard turned to his partner. "I missed why. Do you remember?"

"Nope. I mean, uh, no sir, Sir Frederick."

"Hm," said Frederick. "Curious."

"We'll alert you as soon as they return," the first guard said eagerly.

"Good. As you were." Frederick and Emmeryn passed the two guards by.

* * *

Emmeryn was sullen as she trudged toward her room.

"Be patient," said Frederick. "They'll return soon enough."

"I know," Emmeryn sighed. "It's just… been a long wait already."

"I agree."

* * *

Emmeryn placed her bags on her bed, each filled to the brim with clothes and other supplies.

She sighed, not willing to unpack right now.

* * *

Knock, knock.

Frederick answered his door. To her surprise, most of his bags lay open and empty—already efficiently unpacked—around his room.

"Yes, Lady Emmeryn?"

"Sir Frederick…" she said, "I'll be in the gardens if you wish to join me."

"Certainly, milady."

* * *

It was a beautiful day for Ylisstol. Few clouds dotted the blue sky, and a gentle breeze touched their skin as they peacefully sat and waited.

Emmeryn closed her eyes and breathed in her air. "It's good to be home," she hummed, smiling.

Frederick nodded his agreement. "It's very quiet around here. Chrom took nearly everybody with him."

"I find the quiet typical of Ylisstol," she said. "It's all I know of it."

"And that certainly has its merit," said Frederick.

"That it does… It's comforting. I rather adore the quiet…"

"Lady Emmeryn." Frederick sat forward in his chair rigidly. He had his armor on, for one; she was rather glad to see him back in it. "May I speak… candidly?"

"Uh-oh," said Emmeryn teasingly. "What did I do?"

Frederick chuckled. "Nothing, of course. I merely have a… a rather personal question for you."

"Oh." Emmeryn tried to think of every possible thing he could ask of her: details on John? On Jer? On… Sirus?

No… he wouldn't ask about that. Whatever it was he wanted to know, she'd be happy to answer. "Go ahead."

"My lady Emmeryn, in the past few years, I have had much of my life as a knight questioned," said Frederick. "The extent of honor, the value of glory in war… and my station. That is, what exactly my station _entails."_

Emmeryn frowned, uncomprehending. "Go on?"

"I always saw the world in a stark black and white," he said seriously. "There are peasants. There are knights. And there are nobles. These lines do not blur, and do not mix.

"But my view has changed ever since we found Robin in that field. A peasant became our finest tactician; another, Donnel, also became a valuable member of our honorable soldiers. Nobles of all kinds—Chrom, Virion, Ricken, even Walhart—picked up weapons and fought alongside us as equals in war. I slowly began to realize that these classes do not define us… do not define _me."_ He pressed his hand against his breastplate to punctuate his sentence. "My lady Emmeryn, I told you long ago that my only passion was for my job. That… wasn't entirely true. Since I was a young page, I looked up to you, admired you, and transferred what I felt into becoming a knight you would be proud of."

Emmeryn's eyes widened slightly. She was starting to understand.

"Before, I would never have confessed to you how I felt; I saw my own place as a knight, and was more than happy to remain there, serving you and your family no matter what came Ylisse's way. Yet, my views have changed. Lady Lissa married a commoner, and Lord Chrom chose Lady Maribelle not out of duty or station, but because of the passion he felt for her—the love that had grown between them on the battlefield. For neither was station even considered." He smiled for Emmeryn. "And that is where I am, milady. Please, excuse my impudence… my unbecoming forwardness, when I give you this proposition… My aforementioned personal question." He gestured between the two of them. "… _Us_." He then folded his hands, calmly awaiting her reply.

Emmeryn breathed shakily. "I see…" she said. "Sir Frederick, I have truly never considered that…"

"I understand."

"Sir Frederick…" Emmeryn said quietly. "I'm sorry… I cannot accept."

Frederick tilted his head curiously.

"I have given much, much thought to my past relationship with Jer… I've come to the conclusion that… I don't want a husband. At least, not now…" She bit her lip. "I may not have much to make of my life right now, but… I want to make it myself, first. I want to really, really live…" She looked Frederick in the eye. "And _then_ I'll think of these matters."

"And what of your feelings for Robin?" Frederick asked neutrally. "Do they impact this decision?"

"No," Emmeryn said immediately, honestly. "I speak the truth. I have… no interest in relationships for now."

"I see." Frederick smiled. "Very well then, milady. I will return to life as your guard, until such a day that you give me a more definitive answer. Even if it takes years."

Emmeryn was taken aback by his bluntness. "Frederick…"

"Such is my charge," he said. "Such is my hope."

Emmeryn smiled. _I am. I am… truly blessed._

"Ah! You've returned!"

Emmeryn and Frederick turned to the newcomer.

Lucina approached, wearing a wide smile. "Sir Frederick, Aunt Emmeryn… I'm pleased to see you two well. Was your trip productive?"

"It certainly was," said Emmeryn pleasantly. "Please, join us."

Lucina frowned. "I'm searching for Lucina's crib right now. Er, baby-Lucina's, that is. Have you seen it anywhere?"

"I'm afraid not," said Frederick, and Emmeryn shook her head.

Lucina sighed and took a chair, the three Ylisseans now forming a triangle. "Oh, well. I suppose I'll have to find a new one."

"What have we missed, Your Highness?" asked Frederick.

"Hmm… Quite a bit, I suppose," said Lucina. "Let's see… Oh! Sumia gave birth a few months ago."

"What?" Emmeryn asked, taken aback.

"It seems she was pregnant prior to the end of the war," said Lucina. "She hid it quite well. Her twins, Morgan and Cynthia, were born back in May. Morgan is older by twelve minutes."

"That's rather astounding," Frederick chuckled.

Emmeryn agreed, but it explained a lot. Most pertinently, Sumia's violent reaction toward Cynthia after the final battle… She was keeping her pregnancy a secret from Robin, and never got to tell him.

Well, until he returned, that is! "A-And Robin?"

"Oh, right… The elephant in the room, I suppose," Lucina sighed. "He returned on the seventeenth, but he… wasn't the same. I'm not really sure what happened, but when the others left two days ago, it seemed to have something to do with Robin."

"Wasn't the same?" Emmeryn asked.

"How so?" Frederick added.

"He'd lost his memories again," Lucina explained. "It was a mess… he was acting entirely dissonant from his past self, doing things I couldn't believe. When Father gets back, he should explain it: he'd do a better job than I could."

Emmeryn frowned. "I see…"

Amnesia… Amnesia-induced dissonance. Emmeryn was well acquainted with the subject.

Lucina smiled. "But don't lose heart, Aunt Emmeryn. I'm certain he'll be back to his old self soon enough."

"I hope," Emmeryn replied.

"Me too." Lucina tilted her head curiously. "So, where did you go? Did you see anything… fantastical?"

"We went to Plegia, then to Valm by ship," said Emmeryn. "I visited old friends."

Lucina smiled. "Old friends. I am happy that you have those."

Emmeryn thought of Rjorn's happy little village and smiled. "…I am, too."

"Aside from those who fought with me in the Shepherds, I have no friends," said Lucina. "They either died in the future, or were left behind… I envy you, Aunt Emmeryn."

"But the friends you _do_ have… you are very close with," said Emmeryn. "Right?"

Lucina nodded. "I suppose you're right. I'm blessed to have them. …We are all blessed, one way or another. It seems that there is always a silver lining, no matter how bleak things appear…"

"Well spoken, Your Highness," said Frederick.

The door to the garden opened. Maribelle stepped in, looking rather disheveled; her hair was less neat than usual, and her eyes wore bags. "Lady Emmeryn, welcome home," she said impatiently. Emmeryn got the sense that Maribelle was rushing through the formalities. "Chrom needs you in the infirmary."

Emmeryn stood. "Chrom is home?" she asked, her heart rising. She looked at Frederick and Lucina, who both stood as well; she then turned back to Maribelle. "A-And Robin, too?"

Maribelle pursed her lips. There was a pain in her eyes that Emmeryn didn't understand. "…Just come along, dear. I'll explain along the way."

Maribelle went back inside.

Emmeryn exchanged concerned glances with Frederick and Lucina.

"Well," said Frederick with a pleasant smile; he gestured toward the door. "Shall we be on our way?"

Emmeryn bit her lip, her anxiety making her shiver. She was suddenly possessed with an urge to say something, _anything_ to them…

"Sir Frederick," she said quickly. "I…" She looked down at the ground. "Thank you… Thank you for everything. You are a dear friend to me…"

"Your words warm my heart," said Frederick.

Lucina put her hand on Emmeryn's shoulder and stared into her aunt's eyes. "Aunt Emmeryn."

Emmeryn was suddenly enraptured by the mark in Lucina's eye. The Brand of the Exalt.

Lucina brushed Emmeryn's bangs aside, revealing her own mark.

"Have courage," said Lucina, smiling. "No matter what happens, you always have a family to return to. No matter what."

A tear ran down Emmeryn's cheek. "Lucina…"

"Shh," Lucina whispered, pulling her aunt in for a hug. "Don't cry…"

Emmeryn blinked away the tears, and slowly extricated herself from the embrace. "I won't. I won't cry anymore." She smiled in spite of her tearful shivers. "I have too much to be happy about. I love you all." She looked at Frederick. "I understand… Finally, I understand what he meant."

Frederick smiled warmly.

"And the people I love… need me right now," she said, and turned for the door. She placed her hand over her heart. "This is my purpose… To love, it's—it's a part of me. And with that love… I can heal."

She smiled bravely, and, followed by her comrades, returned to the castle to do what she did best.

* * *

-END-

* * *

 _Author's notes:_

 _After they arrived in Valm again, I found myself accidentally writing Emmeryn's name as Emily at many points. More often than not, I corrected myself, but I sometimes found it more fitting not to. It only makes sense that, if_ I'm _getting confused, wouldn't_ she?

 _Anyway..._

 _Here's some trivia about this story, according to Word:_

 _205 pages_

 _84,422 words_

 _Created on 20 August 2015_

 _Finished ("finished") on 26 January 2016_

 _Last edited/Uploaded: 31 January 2016 (and I almost guarantee I'll find something in need of editing in the future)_

 _Edit (12/25/2017):_

 _This story is the second part of the_ Dissonance _trilogy._ _Since that was a bit of a spoiler when_ Miracle _was first uploaded, I wrote the story so that_ Dissonance _was not required reading, which I believe was absolutely the right decision. In fact,_ Miracle _stands alone very well. Emmeryn's story does continue in_ _the final part of the series,_ Into the Outrealms, _though she is no longer the central focus._

 _This was such an adventure to write. From August 2015 through January 2016, I spent pretty much every free moment (only slight hyperbole) writing it._ _And once it was finished, it became a part of my life that was just DONE, you know? It's crazy. Not a feeling I'm used to._

Miracle _was originally envisioned as a relatively-brief oneshot, but I just couldn't do that. The deeper I dove into this, the more details I added, and the tighter I realized I could make this story. I had originally intended this to be a side project while I worked on the then-upcoming_ _story_ Into the Outrealms, _but I soon found that this story deserved my full attention. There's just too much potential behind Emmeryn to half-ass it._

 _When this story was first uploaded, it had no character tags. The reveal that the protagonist was Emmeryn was a big part of the story then, but I knew that I couldn't preserve that twist forever, so about a week later (when the initial attention faded) I tagged her to make the story searchable and more appetizing. This removed that twist, but I don't think it was terribly hard to guess beforehand anyway, and in the end, the twist isn't that important, you know? The story is about The Girl finding herself, but it is not about The Girl finding out that she's Emmeryn. That twist didn't take away from the story, but in my opinion, it didn't add anything either. (I wonder, if I'd tagged her from the beginning, whether_ Miracle _would have garnered more attention on that crucial first day.)_

 _There's so much more I'd like to say about_ Miracle's _history_ , _but for now, this is all. Thank you so much for reading what was essentially six months of my life._

This has been **A Hard Miracle.** Thanks for everything.


End file.
